UC-NRLF 


B    3    St,^    23M 


I 

OF 
IFORNIA 
CRUZ 


TRISTREM  VARICK 


"Mr.  Salttis  is  the  prose  laureate  of  pessimism" 

—THE  ARGUS. 


EDGAR   SALTUS'  WRITINGS 

MR.  INCOUVS  MISADVENTURE 

THE  ANATOMY  OF  NEGATION 
THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  DISENCHANTMENT 

BALZAC 

IN  PREPARATION 
EDEN 


PS 

2152. 

T7 


TO  MY  MASTER 

THE  PHILOSOPHER  OF  THE   UNCONSCIOUS 
EDUARD    VON  HARTMANN 

THIS  ATTEMPT  IN  ORNAMENTAL 
DISENCHA  NTMENT 

IS  DUTIFULLY  INSCRIBED 
New  York,  i$th  February,  1888 


THE  TRUTH   ABOUT 

TRISTREM    VARICK. 


i. 


IT  is  just  as  well  to  say  at  the  onset  that  the 
tragedy  in  which  Tristrera  Varick  was  the 
central  figure  has  not  been  rightly  under- 
stood. The  world  in  which  he  lived,  as  well 
as  the  newspaper  public,  have  had  but  one 
theory  between  them  to  account  for  it,  and 
that  theory  is  that  Tristrem  Varick  was 
insane.  Tristrem  Varick  was  not  insane. 
He  had,  perhaps,  a  fibre  more  or  a  fibre  less 
than  the  ordinary  run  of  men  ;  that  some- 
thing, in  fact,  which  is  the  prime  factor  of 
individuality  and  differentiates  the  posses- 
sor from  the  herd  ;  but  to  call  him  insane  is 
nonsense.  If  he  were,  it  is  a  pity  that  there 
are  not  more  lunatics  like  him. 

It   may   be   that  the  course  of  conduct 

2 


THE  TRUTH  ABOUT 

TRISTREM    VARICK. 


i. 


IT  is  just  as  well  to  say  at  the  onset  that  the 
tragedy  in  which  Tristrera  Varick  was  the 
central  figure  has  not  been  rightly  under- 
stood. The  world  in  which  he  lived,  as  well 
as  the  newspaper  public,  have  had  but  one 
theory  between  them  to  account  for  it,  and 
that  theory  is  that  Tristrem  Varick  was 
insane.  Tristrem  Varick  was  not  insane. 
He  had,  perhaps,  a  fibre  more  or  a  fibre  less 
than  the  ordinary  run  of  men  ;  that  some- 
thing, in  fact,  which  is  the  prime  factor  of 
individuality  and  differentiates  the  posses- 
sor from  the  herd  ;  but  to  call  him  insane  is 
nonsense.  If  he  were,  it  is  a  pity  that  there 
are  not  more  lunatics  like  him. 

It   may  be   that  the  course  of  conduct 
2 


1 8  Tristrem  Varick. 

which  he  pursued  in  regard  to  his  father's 
estate  served  as  basis  to  the  theory  alluded 
to.  At  the  time  being,  it  created  quite  a 
little  stir ;  it  was  looked  upon  as  a  piece  of 
old-world  folly,  an  eccentricity  worthy  of 
the  red-heeled  days  of  seigneurial  France, 
and,  as  such,  altogether  out  of  place  in  a 
money-getting  age  like  our  own.  But  it 
was  not  until  after  the  tragedy  that  his 
behavior  in  that  particular  was  brought  up 
in  evidence  against  him. 

The  facts  in  the  case  were  these  :  Tris- 
trem's  father,  Erastus  Varick,  was  a  man  of 
large  wealth,  who,  when  well  on  in  the  for- 
ties, married  a  girl  young  enough  to  be  his 
daughter.  The  lady  in  question  was  the 
only  child  of  a  neighbor,  Mr.  Dirck  Van 
Norden  by  name,  and  very  pretty  is  she  said 
to  have  been.  Before  the  wedding  Erastus 
Varick  had  his  house,  which  was  situated  in 
Waverley  Place,  refurbished  from  cellar  to 
garret ;  he  had  the  parlor — there  were  par- 
lors in  those  days — fitted  up  in  white  and 
gold,  in  the  style  known  as  that  of  the  First 
Empire.  The  old  Dutch  furniture,  black 
with  age  and  hair-cloth,  was  banished.  The 
walls  were  plastered  with  a  lime  cement  of 


Tristrem  Varick.  19 

peculiar  brilliance.  The  floors  of  the  bed- 
rooms were  carpeted  with  rugs  that  ex- 
tended under  the  beds,  a  novelty  in  New 
York,  and  the  bedsteads  themselves,  which 
were  vast  enough  to  make  coffins  for  ten 
people,  were  curtained  with  chintz  patterns 
manufactured  in  Manchester  to  frighten 
children.  In  brief,  Erastus  Varick  suc- 
ceeded in  making  the  house  even  less  at- 
tractive than  before,  and  altogether  acted 
like  a  man  in  love. 

After  three  years  of  marriage,  Tristrem 
was  born  and  Mrs.  Varick  died.  The  boy 
had  the  best  of  care  and  everything  that 
money  could  procure.  He  was  given  that 
liberal  education  which  usually  unfits  the 
recipient  for  making  so  much  as  his  bread 
and  butter,  and  at  school,  at  college,  and 
when  he  went  abroad  his  supply  of  funds 
was  of  the  amplest  description.  Shortly 
after  his  return  from  foreign  lands  Erastus 
Varick  was  gathered  to  his  fathers.  By  his 
will  he  bequeathed  to  Tristrem  a  Panama 
hat  and  a  bundle  of  letters.  The  rest  and 
residue  of  his  property  he  devised  to  the  St. 
Nicholas  Hospital.  The  value  of  that  prop- 
erty amounted  to  seven  million  dollars. 


20  Tristrem  Varick. 

Now  Dirck  Van  Norden  had  not  yet 
moved  from  the  neighborhood  to  a  better 
place.  Tristrem  was  his  only  grandson,  and 
when  he  learned  of  the  tenor  of  the  will, 
he  shook  his  fist  at  himself  in  the  looking- 
glass  and  swore,  in  a  bountiful  old-fashioned 
manner  which  was  peculiar  to  him,  that  his 
grandson  should  not  be  divested  of  his 
rights.  He  set  the  lawyers  to  work,  and  the 
lawyers  were  not  long  in  discovering  a  flaw 
which,  through  a  wise  provision  of  the  leg- 
islature, rendered  the  will  null  and  void. 
The  Hospital  made  a  bold  fight.  It  was 
shown  beyond  peradventure  that  from  the 
time  of  Tristrem's  birth  the  intention  of  the 
testator — and  the  intention  of  a  testator  is 
what  the  court  most  considers — had  been 
to  leave  his  property  to  a  charitable  insti- 
tution. It  was  proved  that  he  had  made 
other  wills  of  a  similar  character,  and  that 
he  had  successively  destroyed  them  as  his 
mind  changed  in  regard  to  minor  details 
and  distributions  of  the  trust.  But  the 
wise  law  was  there,  and  there  too  were  the 
wise  lawyers.  The  decision  was  made  in 
accordance  with  the  statute,  and  the  estate 
reverted  to  Tristrem,  who  then  succeeded 


Tristrem  l^arick.  21 

in  surprising  New  York.  Of  his  own  free 
will  he  made  over  the  entire  property  to 
the  account  of  the  Hospital  to  which  it  had 
been  originally  devised,  and  it  was  in  con- 
nection with  that  transfer  that  he  was  taxed 
with  old-world  folly.  But  the  matter  was 
misunderstood  and  afterward  forgotten,  and 
only  raked  up  again  when  the  press  of  two 
continents  busied  itself  with  his  name.  At 
that  time  he  was  in  his  twenty-fifth  or 
twenty-sixth  year. 

He  was  slender,  of  medium  height,  blue 
of  eye,  and  clear-featured.  His  hair,  which 
was  light  in  color,  he  wore  brushed  up- 
ward and  back  from  the  forehead.  When 
he  walked,  it  was  with  a  slight  stoop,  which 
was  the  more  noticeable  in  that,  being  near- 
sighted, he  had  a  way  of  holding  his  chin 
out  and  raising  his  eyebrows  as  though  he 
were  peering  at  something  which  he  could 
not  quite  discern.  In  his  face  there  was  a 
charm  that  grew  and  delighted  and  fastened 
on  the  beholder.  At  the  age  of  twenty-six 
he  would  have  been  recognized  by  anyone 
who  had  known  him  as  a  boy.  He  had  ex- 
panded, of  course,  and  a  stoop  and  dimness 
of  vision  had  come  with  years  ;  but  in  his 


22  Tristrem  Varick. 

face  was    the    same    unmistakable,   almost 
childish,  expression  of  sweet  good-will. 

His  school-days  were  passed  at  Concord. 
When  he  first  appeared  there  he  looked  so 
much  like  a  pretty  girl,  in  his  manner  was 
such  gentleness,  and  his  nature  was  found 
to  be  so  vibrant  and  sensitive,  that  his  bap- 
tismal name  was  promptly  shortened  into 
Trissy.  But  by  the  time  he  reached  the 
fourth  form  it  was  lengthened  back  again 
to  its  rightful  shape.  This  change  was  the 
result  of  an  evolution  of  opinion.  One  day 
while  some  companions,  with  whom  he  hap- 
pened to  be  loitering,  scurried  behind  a 
fence,  he  stopped  a  runaway  horse,  clinging 
to  the  bridle  though  his  arm  had  been  dis- 
located in  the  earliest  effort.  Another  time, 
when  a  comrade  had  been  visited,  unjustly  it 
appeared,  with  some  terrible  punishment — 
five  hundred  lines,  perhaps,  or  something 
equally  direful — Tristrem  made  straight  for 
the  master,  and  argued  with  him  to  such 
effect  that  the  punishment  was  remitted. 
And  again,  when  a  tutor  asked  how  it  was 
that  there  was  no  W  in  the  French  lan- 
guage, Tristrem  answered,  "  Because  of 
Waterloo." 


Tristrem  Varich.  23 

Boys  are  generous  in  their  enthusiasms  ; 
they  like  bravery,  they  are  not  deaf  to  wit, 
but  perhaps  of  all  other  things  they  admire 
justice  most.  And  Tristrem  seemed  to  ex- 
hale it.  It  is  said  that  everyone  has  a  par- 
ticular talent  for  some  one  thing,  whether 
for  good  or  evil,  and  the  particular  talent 
which  was  accorded  to  Tristrem  Varick 
was  that  of  appreciation.  He  was  a  born 
umpire.  In  disputes  his  school-fellows 
turned  to  him  naturally,  and  accepted  his 
verdict  without  question.  When  he  reached 
the  altitudes  which  the  Upper  School  offers, 
no  other  boy  at  St.  Paul's  was  better  liked 
than  he.  At  that  time  the  form  of  which 
he  was  a  member  —  and  in  which,  par- 
enthetically, he  ranked  rather  low  —  was 
strengthened  by  a  new-comer,  a  turbulent, 
precocious  boy  who  had  been  expelled  from 
two  other  schools,  and  with  whom,  so  ran 
the  gossip,  it  would  go  hard  were  he  ex- 
pelled again.  His  name  was  Royal  Wei- 
don,  and  on  his  watch,  and  on  a  seal  ring 
which  he  wore  on  his  little  finger,  he  dis- 
played an  elaborate  coat-of-arms  under 
which  for  legend  were  the  words,  Well  done^ 
Weldon,  words  which  it  was  reported  an 


24  Tristrem  Varick. 

English  king  had  bawled  in  battle,  enno- 
bling as  he  did  so  the  earliest  Weldon  known 
to  fame. 

Between  the  two  lads,  and  despite  the 
dissimilarity  of  their  natures,  or  perhaps 
precisely  on  that  account,  there  sprang  up 
a  warm  friendship  which  propinquity  ce- 
mented, for  chance  or  the  master  had  given 
them  a  room  in  common.  At  first,  Tristrem 
fairly  blinked  at  Weldon's  precocity,  and 
Weldon,  who  was  accustomed  to  be  ad- 
mired, took  to  Tristrem  not  unkindly  on 
that  account.  But  after  a  time  Tristrem 
ceased  to  blink  and  began  to  lecture,  not 
priggishly  at  all,  but  in  a  persuasive  manner 
that  was  hard  to  resist.  For  Weldon  was 
prone  to  get  into  difficulties,  and  equally 
prone  to  make  the  difficulties  worse  than 
they  need  have  been.  When  cross-ques- 
tioned he  would  decline  to  answer  ;  it  was 
a  trick  he  had.  Now  Tristrem  never  got 
into  difficulties,  except  with  Latin  pros- 
ody or  a  Greek  root,  and  he  was  frank  to 
a  fault. 

It  so  happened  that  one  day  the  head- 
master summoned  Tristrem  to  him.  "  My 
dear,"  he  said,  "  Royal  is  not  acting  quite 


Tristrem  Varick.  25 

as  he  should,  is  he?"  To  this  Tristrem 
made  no  reply.  "  He  is  a  motherless  boy," 
the  master  continued,  "a  poor  motherless 
boy.  I  wish,  Tristrem,  that  you  would 
use  your  influence  with  him.  I  see  but  one 
course  open  to  me,  unless  he  does  better — " 
Tristrem  was  a  motherless  boy  himself,  but 
he  answered  bravely  that  he  would  do  what 
he  could.  That  evening,  as  he  was  battling 
with  the  platitudes  of  that  Augustan  bore 
who  is  called  the  Bard  of  Mantua,  presuma- 
bly because  he  was  born  in  Andes — Wei- 
don  came  in,  smelling  of  tobacco  and  drink. 
It  was  evident  that  he  had  been  to  town. 

Tristrem  looked  up  from  his  task,  and  as 
he  looked  he  heard  the  step  of  a  tutor  in 
the  hall.  He  knew,  if  the  tutor  had  speech 
with  Weldon,  that  on  the  morrow  Weldon 
would  leave  the  school.  In  a  second  he 
had  seated  him  before  the  open  dictionary, 
and  in  another  second  he  was  kneeling  at 
his  own  bedside.  Hardly  had  he  bowed  his 
head  when  there  came  a  rap  at  the  door, 
the  tutor  entered,  saw  the  kneeling  figure, 
apologized  in  a  whisper,  and  withdrew. 

When  Tristrem  stood  up  again,  Weldon 
was  sobered  and  very  pale.  "  Tristrem — " 


26  Tristrem  Varick. 

he  began,  but  Tristrem  interrupted  him. 
"  There,  don't  say  anything,  and  don't  do  it 
again.  To-morrow  you  had  better  talk  it 
over  with  the  doctor." 

Weldon  declined  to  talk  it  over  with  any- 
one, but  after  that  he  behaved  himself  with 
something  approaching  propriety.  Two 
years  later,  in  company  with  his  friend,  he 
entered  Harvard,  from  which  institution  he 
was  subsequently  dropped. 

Tristrem  meanwhile  struggled  through 
the  allotted  four  years.  He  was  not  brill- 
iant in  his  studies,  the  memorizing  of  ab- 
struse questions  and  recondite  problems 
was  not  to  his  liking.  He  preferred  mod- 
ern tongues  to  dead  languages,  an  intricate 
fugue  was  more  to  his  taste  than  the  sim- 
plest equation,  and  to  his  shame  it  must  be 
noted  that  he  read  Petrarch  at  night.  But, 
though  the  curriculum  was  not  entirely  to 
his  fancy,  he  was  conscientious  and  did  his 
best.  There  are  answers  that  he  gave  in 
class  that  are  quoted  still,  tangential  flights 
that  startled  the  listeners  into  new  concep- 
tions of  threadbare  themes,  totally  different 
from  the  usual  cut  and  dried  response  that 
is  learned  by  rote.  And  at  times  he  would 


Tristrem  Varick.  27 

display  an  ignorance,  a  stupidity  even,  that 
was  fathomless  in  its  abysses. 

After  graduation,  he  went  abroad.  Eng- 
land seemed  to  him  like  a  rose  in  bloom, 
but  when  autumn  came  and  with  it  a  suc- 
cession of  fogs,  each  more  depressing  than 
the  last,  he  fled  to  Italy,  and  wandered 
among  her  ghosts  and  treasuries,  and  then 
drifted  up  again  through  Germany,  to  Paris, 
where  he  gave  his  mornings  to  the  Sor- 
bonne  and  his  evenings  to  orchestra-stalls. 

II. 

IT  was  after  an  absence  of  nearly  five  years 
that  Tristrem  Varick  returned  to  the  States. 
He  had  wearied  of  foreign  lands,  and  for 
some  time  previous  he  had  thought  of  New 
York  in  such  wise  that  it  had  grown  in  his 
mind,  and  in  the  growing  it  had  assumed  a 
variety  of  attractive  attributes.  He  was, 
therefore,  much  pleased  at  the  prospect  of 
renewing  his  acquaintance  with  Fifth  Ave- 
nue, and  during  the  homeward  journey  he 
pictured  to  himself  the  advantages  which 
his  native  city  possessed  over  any  other 
which  he  had  visited. 


28  Tristrem  Varick. 

He  had  not,  however,  been  many  hours 
on  shore  before  he  found  that  Fifth  Avenue 
had  shrunk.  In  some  unaccountable  way  the 
streets  had  lost  their  charm,  the  city  seemed 
provincial.  He  was  perplexed  at  the  dis- 
covery that  the  uniform  if  depthless  civility 
of  older  civilizations  .was  rarely  observable ; 
he  was  chagrined  to  find  that  the  minutice 
which,  abroad,  he  had  accepted  as  a  matter 
of  course,  the  thousand  trifles  which  amount, 
after  all,  to  nothing  particularly  indispen- 
sable, but  which  serve  to  make  mere  exist- 
ence pleasant,  were,  when  not  overlooked, 
inhibited  by  statute  or  custom. 

In  the  course  of  a  week  he  was  surprised 
into  reflecting  that,  while  no  other  country 
was  more  naturally  and  bountifully  favored 
than  his  own,  there  was  yet  no  other  where 
the  art  of  living  was  as  vexatiously  misun- 
derstood. 

Of  these  impressions  he  said  nothing.  His 
father  asked  him  no  questions,  nor  did  he 
manifest  a  desire  for  any  larger  sociological 
information  than  that  which  he  already  pos- 
sessed. His  grandfather  was  too  irascible 
for  anyone  to  venture  with  in  safety  through 
the  shallows  of  European  refinements,  and 


Tristrem  Varick.  29 

of  other  relatives  Tristrem  could  not  boast. 
Few  of  his  former  friends  were  at  once  dis- 
coverable, and  of  those  that  he  encountered 
some  had  fallen  into  the  rut  and  routine  of 
business  life,  some  had  married  and  sent  in 
their  resignations  to  everything  but  the 
Humdrum,  and  some  passed  their  days  in 
an  effort  to  catch  a  train. 

For  the  moment,  therefore,  there  was  no 
one  to  whom  Tristrem  could  confide  his  ear- 
liest impressions,  and  in  a  month's  time  the 
force  of  these  impressions  waned  ;  the  differ- 
ence between  New  York  and  Paris  lost  much 
of  its  accent,  and  in  its  place  came  a  grow- 
ing admiration  for  the  pluck  and  power  of 
the  nation,  an  expanding  enthusiasm  for  the 
stretch  and  splendor  of  the  land. 

During  the  month  that  followed,  an  inci- 
dent occurred  which  riveted  his  patriotism 
forever.  First  among  the  friends  and  ac- 
quaintances whom  Tristrem  sought  on  his 
return  was  Royal  Weldon.  Outwardly  the 
handsome,  turbulent  boy  had  developed  into 
an  admirable  specimen  of  manhood,  he  had 
become  one  on  whom  the  feminine  eye  likes 
to  linger,  and  in  whose  companionship  men 
feel  themselves  refreshed.  His  face  was 


)O  Tristrem  Varick. 

beardless  and  unmustached,  and  into  it  had 
come  that  strength  which  the  old  prints 
give  to  Karl  Martel.  In  the  ample  jaw  and 
straight  lips  was  a  message  which  a  physi- 
ognomist would  interpret  as  a  promise  of 
successful  enterprise,  whether  of  good  or 
evil.  It  was  a  face  which  a  Crusader  might 
have  possessed,  or  a  pirate  of  the  Spanish 
main.  In  a  word,  he  looked  like  a  man  who 
might  be  a  hero  to  his  valet. 

Yet,  despite  this  adventurous  type  of  coun- 
tenance, Weldon's  mode  of  life  was  seeming- 
ly conventional.  Shortly  after  the  removal 
from  Harvard,  his  father  was  mangled  in  a 
railway  accident  and  left  the  planet  and  little 
behind  him  save  debts  and  dislike.  Prompt- 
ly thereupon  Royal  Weldon  set  out  to  con- 
quer the  Stock  Exchange.  For  three  years 
he  grit  his  teeth,  and  earned  fifteen  dollars  a 
week.  At  the  end  of  that  period  he  had  suc- 
ceeded in  two  things.  He  had  captured  the 
confidence  of  a  prominent  financier,  and  the 
affection  of  the  financier's  daughter.  In  an- 
other twelvemonth  he  was  partner  of  the 
one,  husband  of  the  other,  and  the  taxpayer 
of  a  house  in  Gramercy  Park. 

Of  these  vicissitudes  Tristrem  had  been 


Tristrem  Varick.  31 

necessarily  informed.  During  the  penury 
of  his  friend  he  had  aided  him  to  a  not  in- 
considerable extent ;  though  afar,  he  had  fol- 
lowed his  career  with  affectionate  interest, 
and  the  day  before  Weldon's  wedding  he 
had  caused  Tiffany  to  send  the  bride  a  ser- 
vice of  silver  which  was  mentioned  by  the 
reporters  as  "  elegant  "  and  "  chaste."  On 
returning  to  New  York,  Tristrem  naturally 
found  the  door  of  the  house  in  Gramercy 
Park  wide  open,  and  it  came  about  that  it 
was  in  that  house  that  his  wavering  patriot- 
ism was  riveted. 

This  event,  after  the  fashion  of  extraor- 
dinary occurrences,  happened  in  a  common- 
place manner.  One  Sunday  evening  he  was 
bidden  there  to  dine.  He  had  broken  bread 
in  the  house  many  times  before,  but  the 
bread-breaking  had  been  informal.  On  this 
particular  occasion,  however,  other  guests 
had  been  invited,  and  Tristrem  was  given 
to  understand  that  he  would  meet  some 
agreeable  people. 

When  he  entered  the  drawing-room,  he 
discovered  that  of  the  guests  of  the  evening 
he  was  the  first  to  arrive.  Even  Weldon 
was  not  visible  ;  but  Mrs.  Weldon  was,  and, 


32  Tristrem  Varick. 

as  Tristrem  entered,  she  rose  from  a  straight- 
backed  chair  in  which  she  had  been  seated, 
and  greeted  him  with  a  smile  which  she 
had  copied  from  a  chromo. 

Mrs.  Weldon  was  exceedingly  pretty. 
She  was  probably  twenty-two  or  twenty- 
three  years  of  age,  and  her  intellect  was 
that  of  a  girl  of  twelve.  Her  manner  was 
arch  and  noticeably  affected.  She  had  an 
enervating  way  of  asking  unnecessary  ques- 
tions, and  of  laughing  as  though  it  hurt 
her.  On  the  subject  of  dress  she  was  very 
voluble  ;  in  brief,  she  was  prettiness  and 
insipidity  personified — the  sort  of  woman 
that  ought  to  be  gagged  and  kept  in  bed 
with  a  doll. 

She  gave  Tristrem  a  little  hand  gloved 
with  Suede,  and  asked  him  had  he  been  at 
church  that  morning.  Tristrem  found  a 
seat,  and  replied  that  he  had  not.  "But 
don't  you  like  to  go?"  she  inquired,  empha- 
sizing each  word  of  the  question,  and  end- 
ing up  with  her  irritating  laugh. 

"  He  does,"  came  a  voice  from  the  door, 
and  Weldon  entered.  "  He  does,  but  he 
can  resist  the  temptation."  Then  there  was 
more  conversation  of  the  before-dinner  kind, 


Tristrem  Varick.  33 

and  during  its  progress  the  door  opened 
again,  and  a  young  girl  crossed  the  room. 

She  was  dressed  in  a  gown  of  canary, 
draped  with  madeira  and  fluttered  with  lace. 
Her  arms  and  neck  were  bare,  and  unjew- 
elled.  Her  hair  was  Cimmerian,  the  black 
of  basalt  that  knows  no  shade  more  dark, 
and  it  was  arranged  in  such  wise  that  it  fell 
on  either  side  of  the  forehead,  circling  a 
little  space  above  the  ear,  and  then  wound 
into  a  coil  on  the  neck.  This  arrangement 
was  not  modish,  but  it  was  becoming — the 
only  arrangement,  in  fact,  that  would  have 
befitted  her  features,  which  resembled  those 
of  the  Cleopatra  unearthed  by  Lieutenant 
Gorringe.  Her  eyes  were  not  oval,  but 
round,  and  they  were  amber  as  those  of 
leopards,  the  yellow  of  living  gold.  The 
corners  of  her  mouth  drooped  a  little,  and 
the  mouth  itself  was  rather  large  than  small. 
When  she  laughed  one  could  see  her  tongue  ; 
it  was  like  an  inner  cut  of  water-melon,  and 
sometimes,  when  she  was  silent,  the  point  of 
it  caressed  her  under  lip.  Her  skin  was  of 
that  quality  which  artificial  light  makes  ra- 
diant, and  yet  of  which  the  real  delicacy  is 
only  apparent  by  day.  She  just  lacked  be- 
3 


34  Tristrem  l^arich. 

ing  tall,  and  in  her  face  and  about  her  bare 
arms  and  neck  was  the  perfume  of  health. 
She  moved  indolently,  with  a  grace  of  her 
own.  She  was  not  yet  twenty,  a  festival  of 
beauty  in  the  festival  of  life. 

At  the  rustle  of  her  dress  Tristrem  had 
arisen.  As  the  girl  crossed  the  room  he  be- 
thought him  of  a  garden  of  lilies ;  though 
why,  for  the  life  of  him,  he  could  not  have 
explained.  He  heard  his  name  mentioned, 
and  saw  the  girl  incline  her  head,  but  he 
made  little,  if  any,  acknowledgment ;  he 
stood  quite  still,  looking  at  her  and  through 
her,  and  over  her  and  beyond.  For  some 
moments  he  neither  moved  nor  spoke.  He 
was  unconscious  even  that  other  guests  had 
come. 

He  gave  his  hand  absently  to  a  popular 
novelist,  Mr.  A.  B.  Fenwick  Chisholm-Jones 
by  name,  more  familiarly  known  as  Alpha- 
bet, whom  Weldon  brought  to  him,  and 
kept  his  eyes  on  the  yellow  bodice.  A  fair 
young  woman  in  pink  had  taken  a  position 
near  to  where  he  stood,  and  was  complain- 
ing to  someone  that  she  had  been  obliged 
to  give  up  cigarettes.  And  when  the  some- 
one asked  whether  the  abandonment  of  that 


Tristrem  Varick.  35 

pleasure  was  due  to  parental  interference, 
the  young  woman  laughed  shortly,  and  ex- 
plained that  she  was  in  training  for  a  tennis 
tournament.  Meanwhile  the  little  group  in 
which  Tristrem  stood  was  re-enforced  by  a 
new-comer,  who  attempted  to  condole  with 
the  novelist  on  the  subject  of  an  excoriating 
attack  that  one  of  the  critics  had  recently 
made  on  his  books,  and  suggested  that  he 
ought  to  do  something  about  it.  But  of 
condolence  or  advice  Mr.  Jones  would  have 
none. 

"Bah!"  he  exclaimed,  "if  the  beggar 
doesn't  like  what  I  write  let  him  try  and  do 
better.  I  don't  care  what  any  of  them  say. 
My  books  sell,  and  that's  the  hauptsache* 
Besides,  what's  the  use  in  arguing  with  a 
newspaper  ?  It's  like  talking  metaphysics 
to  a  bull ;  the  first  you  know,  you  get  a 
horn  in  your  navel."  And  while  the  novelist 
was  expressing  his  disdain  of  all  adverse 
criticism,  and  quoting  Emerson  to  the  effect 
that  the  average  reviewer  had  the  eyes  of  a 
bug  and  the  heart  of  a  cat,  Tristrem  discov- 
ered Mrs.  Weldon's  arm  in  his  own,  and 
presently  found  himself  seated  next  to  her 
at  table. 


36  Tristrem  Varick. 

At  the  extreme  end,  to  the  right  of  the 
host,  was  the  girl  with  the  amber  eyes. 
The  novelist  was  at  her  side.  Evidently  he 
had  said  something  amusing,  for  they  were 
both  laughing ;  he  with  the  complacency  of 
one  who  has  said  a  good  thing,  and  she 
with  the  appreciation  of  one  accustomed  to 
wit.  But  Tristrem  was  not  permitted  to 
watch  her  undisturbed.  Mrs.  Weldon  had 
a  right  to  his  attention,  and  she  exercised 
that  right  with  the  pertinacity  of  a  fly  that 
has  to  be  killed  to  be  got  rid  of.  "What 
do  you  think  of  Miss  Finch  ? "  she  asked, 
with  her  stealthy  giggle. 

"Her  name  isn't  Finch,"  Tristrem  an- 
swered, indignantly. 

"Yes  it  is,  too — Flossy  Finch,  her  name 
is  ;  as  if  I  oughtn't  to  know !  Why,  we 
were  at  Mrs.  Garret  and  Mile,  de  1'Entre- 
sol's  school  together  for  years  and  years. 
What  makes  you  say  her  name  isn't  Finch  ? 
I  had  you  here  on  purpose  to  meet  her. 
Did  you  ever  see  such  hair  ?  There's  only 
one  girl  in  New  York " 

"  It  is  black,"  Tristrem  assented. 

"  Black  !  Why,  you  must  be  crazy  ;  it's 
orange,  and  that  dress  of  hers " 


Tristrem  Varick.  37 

Tristrem  looked  down  the  table  and  saw 
a  young  lady  whom  he  had  not  noticed  be- 
fore. Her  hair,  as  Mrs.  Weldon  had  said, 
was  indeed  the  color  of  orange,  though  of 
an  orange  not  over-ripe.  "  I  thought  you 
meant  that  girl  next  to  Royal,"  he  said. 

"That!   Oh!  that's  Miss  Raritan." 

Mrs.  Weldon's  voice  had  changed.  Evi- 
dently Miss  Raritan  did  not  arouse  in  her 
the  same  enthusiasm  as  did  Miss  Finch. 
For  a  moment  her  lips  lost  their  chromo 
smile,  but  presently  it  returned  again,  and 
she  piped  away  anew  on  the  subject  of  the 
charms  of  Flossy  Finch,  and  after  an  inter- 
lude, of  which  Tristrem  heard  not  one  word, 
she  turned  and  cross-questioned  the  man  on 
her  left. 

The  conversation  had  become  very  ani- 
mated. From  Royal's  end  of  the  table 
came  intermittent  shrieks  of  laughter.  The 
novelist  was  evidently  in  his  finest  form. 
"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,"  Miss  Finch 
asked  him  across  the  table,  "do  you  mean 
to  say  that  you  don't  believe  in  platonic 
affection  ? " 

"I  never  uttered  such  a  heresy  in  my 
life,"  the  novelist  replied.  "  Of  course  I 


38  Tristrem  Varick. 

believe  in  it ;  I  believe  in  it  thoroughly — 
between  husband  and  wife." 

At  this  everyone  laughed  again,  except 
Tristrem,  who  had  not  heard,  and  Mrs.  Wei- 
don,  who  had  not  understood.  The  latter, 
however,  felt  that  Miss  Finch  was  distin- 
guishing herself,  and  she  turned  to  Tristrem 
anew. 

"  I  want  you  to  make  yourself  very  agree- 
able to  her,"  she  said.  "  She  is  just  the  girl 
for  you.  Don't  you  think  so?  Now  promise 
that  you  will  talk  to  her  after  dinner." 

"Talk  metaphysics  to  a  bull,  and  the  first 
thing  you  know — the  first  tiling  you  know 
— I  beg  your  pardon,  Mrs.  Weldon,  I  didn't 
mean  to  say  that — I  don't  know  how  the 
stupid  phrase  got  in  my  head  or  why  I  said 
it."  He  hesitated  a  moment,  and  seemed  to 
think.  "  H'm,"  he  went  on,  "  I  am  a  trifle 
tired,  I  fancy." 

Mrs.  Weldon  looked  suspiciously  at  the 
glasses  at  his  side,  but  apparently  they  had 
not  been  so  much  as  tasted  ;  they  were  full 
to  the  rim.  She  turned  again  to  the  guest 
at  her  left.  The  dinner  was  almost  done. 
She  asked  a  few  more  questions,  and  then 
presently,  in  a  general  lull,  she  gave  a  glance 


Tristrem  Varick.  39 

about  her.  At  that  signal  the  women-folk 
rose  in  a  body,  the  men  rising  also,  to  let 
them  pass. 

Tristrem  had  risen  mechanically  with  the 
others,  and  when  the  ultimate  flounce  had 
disappeared  he  sat  down  again  and  busied 
himself  with  a  cup  of  coffee.  The  other 
men  had  drawn  their  chairs  together  near 
him,  and  over  the  liqueurs  were  discussing 
topics  of  masculine  interest  and  flavor. 
Tristrem  was  about  to  make  some  effort  to 
join  in  the  conversation,  when  from  beyond 
there  came  the  running  scale  that  is  the 
prelude  to  the  cabaletta,  Nonpiu  mesta,  from 
Cenerentola.  Then,  abruptly,  a  voice  rang 
out  as  though  it  vibrated  through  labyrinths 
of  gold — a  voice  that  charged  the  air  with 
resonant  accords— a  voice  prodigious  and 
dominating,  grave  and  fluid  ;  a  voice  that 
descended  into  the  caverns  of  sound,  soared 
to  the  uttermost  heights,  scattering  notes 
like  showers  of  stars,  evoking  visions  of 
flesh  and  dazzling  steel,  and  in  its  precipi- 
tate flights  and  vertiginous  descents  disclos- 
ing landscapes  riotous  with  flowers,  rich 
with  perfume,  sentient  with  beauty,  ar- 
ticulate with  love  ;  a  voice  voluptuous  as 


40  Tristrem  Varick. 

an  organ  and  languorous  as  the  consonance 
of  citherns  and  guitars. 

Tristrem,  as  one  led  in  leash,  moved  from 
the  table  and  passed  into  the  outer  room. 
Miss  Raritan  was  at  the  piano.  Beyond,  a 
group  of  women  sat  hushed  and  mute  ;  and 
still  the  resilient  waves  of  song  continued. 
One  by  one  the  men  issued  noiselessly  from 
the  inner  room.  And  then,  soon,  the  voice 
sank  and  died  away  like  a  chorus  entering 
a  crypt. 

Miss  Raritan  rose  from  the  piano.  As 
she  did  so,  Weldon,  as  it  becomes  a  host, 
hastened  to  her.  There  was  a  confused 
hum,  a  murmur  of  applause,  and  above  it 
rose  a  discreet  and  prolonged  brava  that 
must  have  come  from  the  novelist.  Wel- 
don, seemingly,  was  urging  her  to  sing 
again.  The  women  had  taken  up  anew 
some  broken  thread  of  gossip,  but  the  men 
were  at  the  piano,  insisting  too.  Presently 
Miss  Raritan  resumed  her  seat,  and  the  men 
moved  back.  Her  fingers  rippled  over  the 
keys  like  rain.  She  stayed  them  a  second, 
and  then,  in  a  voice  so  low  that  it  seemed 
hardly  human,  and  yet  so  insistent  that  it 
would  have  filled  a  cathedral  and  scaled  the 


Tristrem  Varich.  41 

dome,  she  began  a  ballad  that  breathed  of 
Provence  : 

"  O  Magali,  ma  bien  aim6e, 
Fuyons  tous  deux  sous  la  ramee 
Au  fond  du  bois  silencieux.     .     .     .  " 

When  she  had  finished,  Tristrem  started. 
The  earliest  notes  had  sent  the  blood  puls- 
ing through  his  veins,  thrilling  him  from 
finger-tips  to  the  end  of  the  spine,  and  then 
a  lethargy  enveloped  him  and  he  ceased  to 
hear,  and  it  was  not  until  Miss  Raritan 
stood  up  again  from  the  piano  that  he  was 
conscious  that  he  had  not  been  listening. 
He  had  sat  near  the  entrance  to  the  dining- 
room,  and  when  the  applause  began  afresh 
he  passed  out  into  the  hall,  found  his  coat 
and  hat,  and  left  the  house. 

As  he  walked  down  Irving  Place  he  fell  to 
wondering  who  it  was  that  he  had  heard  com- 
plain of  being  obliged  to  give  up  cigarettes, 
not  on  account  of  parental  interference  but 
because  of  a  tournament.  Yet,  after  all, 
what  matter  did  it  make  ?  Certainly,  he 
told  himself,  the  Weldons  seemed  to  live 
very  well.  Royal  must  be  making  money. 
Mrs.  Weldon — Nanny,  as  Royal  called  her — 


42  Tristrem  Varich. 

was  a  nice  little  thing,  somewhat — h'm,  some- 
what— well,  not  quite  up  to  Royal.  She 
looked  like  that  girl  in  Munich,  the  girl 
that  lived  over  the  way,  only  Mrs.  Weldon 
was  prettier  and  dressed  better,  much  bet- 
ter. Du  hast  die  schonsten  Augen.  Mu- 
nich wasn't  a  bad  place,  but  what  a  hole 
Innspriick  was.  There  was  that  Victoria 
Cross  fellow  ;  whatever  became  of  him  ? 
He  drank  like  a  fish  ;  it  must  have  caught 
him  by  this  time.  H'm,  he  would  give  me 
the  address  of  his  shoemaker.  I  ought  to 
have  taken  more  from  that  man  in  Paris. 
Odd  that  the  Cenerentola  was  the  last  thing 
I  should  have  heard  there.  The  buffo  was 
good,  so  was  the  contralto.  She  sings  much 
better.  What  a  voice  !  what  a  voice  !  Now, 
which  was  the  more  perfect,  the  voice  or 
the  girl  ?  Let  me  see,  which  is  the  bet- 
ter fulfilled,  the  odor  of  the  lily  or  the  lily 
itself  ?  Tulips  I  never  cared  for.  .  .  . 

That  is  it,  then.     I  wonder,  though 

Tristrem  had  reached  the  house  in  Wa- 
verley  Place.  He  let  himself  in  with  a  latch- 
key, and  went  to  his  room.  There  he  sat 
a  while,  companioned  only  by  his  thoughts. 
Before  he  fell  asleep,  his  patriotism  was  riv- 


Tristrem  Varick.  43 

eted.  A  land  that  could  produce  such  a 
specimen  of  girlhood  outvalued  Europe, 
Asia,  and  Africa  combined— aye,  a  thousand 
times— and  topped  and  exceeded  creation. 


III. 

AMONG  the  effects  and  symptoms  of  love, 
there  is  an  involuntary  action  of  the  mind 
which,  since  the  days  of  Stendhal,  has  been 
known  as  crystallization.  When  a  man  be- 
comes interested  in  a  woman,  when  he  pict- 
ures her  not  as  she  really  is,  but  as  she 
seems  to  him — as  she  ought  to  be,  in  fact — 
he  experiences,  first,  admiration  ;  second,  de- 
sire ;  third,  hope  ;  and,  behold,  love  or  its 
counterfeit  is  born. 

This  crystallization  affects  the  individual 
according  to  his  nature.  If  that  nature 
be  inexperienced,  unworn — in  a  word,  if  it 
be  virginal,  its  earliest  effects  are  those  of 
a  malady.  On  the  other  hand,  if  the  nat- 
ure on  which  it  operates  has  received  the 
baptism  of  fire,  its  effect  is  that  of  a  tonic. 
To  the  one  it  is  a  fever,  to  the  other  a  bu- 
gle-call. In  the  first  instance,  admiration  is 
pursued  by  self-depreciation,  desire  is  pin- 


44  Tristrem  l^arick. 

ioned  before  conventional  obstacles,  and 
hope  falters  beneath  a  weight  of  doubt.  In 
the  second,  admiration,  desire,  and  hope 
are  fused  into  one  sentiment,  the  charm  of 
the  chase,  the  delight  of  the  prospective 
quarry.  As  an  example,  there  is  Werther, 
and  there  is  also  Don  Juan. 

Now  Tristrem  Varick  had  never  known  a 
mother,  sisters  he  had  none,  the  feminine 
had  been  absent  from  his  life,  but  in  his  nat- 
ure there  was  an  untarnishable  refinement. 
During  his  student-days  at  Harvard,  and 
throughout  his  residence  abroad,  there  had 
been  nothing  of  that  which  the  French  have 
agreed  to  denominate  as  bonnes  fortunes. 
Such  things  may  have  been  in  his  path, 
waiting  only  to  be  gathered,  but,  in  that  case, 
certain  it  is  that  he  had  passed  them  by 
unheeded.  To  use  the  figurative  phrase, 
he  was  incapable  of  stretching  his  hand  to 
any  woman  who  had  not  the  power  of  awa- 
kening a  lasting  affection  ;  and  during  his 
wanderings,  and  despite,  too,  the  example 
and  easy  morals  of  his  comrades,  no  such 
woman  having  crossed  his  horizon,  he  had 
been  innocent  of  even  the  most  fugitive  liai- 
son. Nevertheless,  the  morning  after  the 


Tristrem  Varick.  45 

dinner  in  Gramercy  Park,  crystallization  had 
done  its  work.  He  awoke  with  the  surprise 
and  wonder  of  an  inexperienced  sensation  ; 
he  awoke  with  the  consciousness  of  being  in 
love,  wholly,  turbulently,  absurdly  in  love 
with  a  girl  to  whom  he  had  not  addressed  a 
single  word. 

The  general  opinion  to  the  contrary  not- 
withstanding, there  are,  after  all,  very  few 
people  who  know  what  love  really  is.  And 
among  those  that  know,  fewer  there  are  that 
tell.  A  lexicographer,  deservedly  forgotten, 
has  defined  it  as  an  exchange  of  fancies,  the 
contact  of  two  epiderms.  Another,  wiser  if 
less  epigrammatic,  announced  it  as  a  some- 
thing that  no  one  knew  what,  coming  no  one 
knew  whence,  and  ending  no  one  knew  how. 
But  in  whatever  fashion  it  may  be  described, 
one  thing  is  certain,  it  has  been  largely  over- 
rated. 

In  the  case  of  Tristrem  Varick  it  appeared 
in  its  most  perfect  form.  The  superlative  is 
used  advisedly.  Love  has  a  hundred  as- 
pects, a  thousand  toilets.  It  may  come  at 
first  sight,  in  which  event,  if  it  be  enduring, 
it  is,  as  Balzac  has  put  it,  a  resultant  of  that 
prescience  which  is  known  as  second  sight. 


46  Tristrem  Varich. 

Or,  it  may  come  of  the  gradual  fusion  of 
two  natures.  It  may  come  of  propinquity, 
of  curiosity,  of  sympathy,  of  hatred.  It 
may  come  of  the  tremors  of  adolescence,  the 
mutual  attraction  of  one  sex  for  the  other  ; 
and,  again,  it  may  come  of  natural  selec- 
tion, of  the  discernment  which  leads  a  man 
through  mazes  of  women  to  one  in  particu- 
lar, to  the  woman  who  to  him  is  the  one 
woman  in  the  world  and  manacles  him  at 
her  feet.  If  Tristrem  Varick  had  not  met 
Miss  Raritan,  it  is  more  than  probable  that 
he  never  would  have  known  the  meaning  of 
the  word. 

When  the  first  surprise  at  the  discovery 
waned,  delight  took  its  place.  He  saw  her 
amber  eyes,  he  recalled  as  she  had  crossed 
the  room  the  indolent  undulation  of  her 
hips,  he  breathed  the  atmosphere  of  health 
which  she  exhaled,  and  in  his  ears  her  voice 
still  rang.  The  Non  piit,  mesta  of  her  song 
seemed  almost  a  promise,  and  the  O  Magali 
an  invitation.  He  recalled  the  movement 
of  her  lips,  and  fell  to  wondering  what  her 
name  might  be.  At  first  he  fancied  that  it 
might  be  Stella ;  but  that,  for  some  occult 
reason  which  only  a  lover  would  understand, 


Tristrem  Varick.  47 

he  abandoned  for  Thyra,  a  name  which 
pleasured  him  awhile  and  which  he  repeated 
aloud  until  it  became  sonorous  as  were  it 
set  in  titles.  But  presently  some  defect 
presented  itself,  it  sounded  less  apt,  more 
suited  to  a  blue-eyed  daughter  of  a  viking 
than  to  one  so  brune  as  she.  Decidedly, 
Thyra  did  not  suit  her.  And  yet  her  name 
might  be  something  utterly  commonplace, 
such  as  Fanny,  for  instance,  or  Agnes,  or  Ger- 
trude. But  that  was  a  possibility  which  he 
declined  to  entertain.  When  a  girl  is  bap- 
tized, the  mother,  in  choosing  the  name, 
should,  he  told  himself,  think  of  the  lover 
who  will  one  day  pronounce  it.  And  what 
had  her  mother  chosen  ?  It  would  be  fore- 
thought indeed  if  she  had  selected  Undine 
or  even  Iseult  ;  but  what  mother  was  ever 
clairvoyant  enough  for  that  ? 

He  thought  this  over  awhile  and  was 
about  to  give  the  query  up,  when  suddenly, 
without  an  effort  on  his  part,  he  was  visited 
by  a  name  that  announced  her  as  the  per- 
fume announces  the  rose,  a  name  that  pict- 
ured and  painted  her,  a  name  that  suited 
her  as  did  her  gown  of  canary,  a  name  that 
crowned  her  beauty  and  explained  the  inel- 


4&  Tristrem  Varich. 

ancholy  of  her  lips.  "  It  is  Madeleine,"  he 
said,  "it  can  be  nothing  else." 

And  into  the  syllables  he  threw  the  wav- 
ing inflection  of  the  French. 

"It  is  Madeleine,"  he  continued,  "  and 
when  I  see  her  I  will  tell  in  what  way  I  di- 
vined it." 

The  possibility  that  she  might  be  indiffer- 
ent to  such  homage  did  not,  for  the  moment, 
occur  to  him.  He  was  loitering  in  the  en- 
chanted gardens  of  the  imagination,  which 
have  been  visited  by  us  all.  It  was  the  im- 
probable that  fluttered  his  pulse. 

Hitherto  the  life  of  Tristrem  Varick  had 
been  that  of  a  dilettante.  There  had  been 
no  reason  why  he  should  work.  His  educa- 
tion had  unfitted  him  for  labor,  and  his 
tastes,  if  artistic,  were  not  sufficiently  pro- 
nounced to  act  as  incentives.  He  handled 
the  brush  well  enough  to  know  that  he  could 
never  be  a  painter  ;  he  had  a  natural  under- 
standing of  music,  its  value  was  clear  to 
him,  yet  its  composition  was  barred.  The 
one  talent  that  he  possessed — a  talent  that 
grows  rarer  with  the  days — was  that  of  ap- 
preciation, he  could  admire  the  masterpieces 
of  others,  but  creation  was  not  his.  A  few 


Tristrem  Varick.  49 

centuries  ago  he  would  have  made  an  ad- 
mirable knight-errant.  In  a  material  age 
like  our  own,  his  raison  d'etre  was  not  ob- 
vious. In  a  word,  he  was  just  such  an  one 
as  his  father  had  intended  he  should  be,  one 
whose  normal  condition  was  that  of  chronic 
pluperfect  subjunctive,  and  who,  if  thrown 
on  his  own  resources,  would  be  helpless  in- 
deed. 

In  some  dim  way  he  had  been  conscious 
of  this  before,  and  hitherto  he  had  accepted 
it,  as  he  had  accepted  his  father's  attitude, 
as  one  accepts  the  inevitable,  and  put  it 
aside  again  as  something  against  which,  like 
death,  or  like  life,  it  is  useless  to  rebel. 
After  all,  there  was  nothing  particularly 
dreadful  about  it.  An  inability  to  be  Some- 
body was  not  a  matter  of  which  the  District 
Attorney  is  obliged  to  take  cognizance.  At 
least  he  need  do  no  harm,  and  he  would  have 
wealth  enough  to  do  much  good.  It  was  in 
thoughts  like  these  that  hitherto  he  had 
found  consolation.  But  on  this  particular 
morning  he  looked  for  them  anew,  and  the 
search  was  fruitless.  Not  one  of  the  old 
consolations  disclosed  the  slightest  worth. 

He  stood  before  himself  naked  in  his  noth- 
4 


50  Tristrem  Varick. 

ingness.  The  true  knowledge  of  his  incom- 
petence had  never  come  home  to  him  be- 
fore— but  now  it  closed  round  him  in  ser- 
ried arguments,  and  in  the  closing  shut  out 
all  hope  of  her.  Who  was  he,  indeed,  to 
pretend  to  such  a  girl  ? 

To  win  her,  he  told  himself,  one  must 
needs  be  a  conqueror,  one  who  has  coped 
with  dangers  and  could  flaunt  new  triumphs 
as  his  lady's  due.  Some  soldier  bearing  a 
marshal's  baton  back  from  war,  some  hero 
that  had  liberated  an  empire  or  stolen  a  re- 
public for  himself,  some  prince  of  literature 
or  satrap  of  song,  someone,  in  fact,  who, 
booted  and  spurred,  had  entered  the  Temple 
of  Fame,  and  claimed  the  dome  as  his.  But 
he !  What  had  he  to  offer  ?  His  name, 
however  historical  and  respected,  was  an 
accident  of  birth.  Of  the  wealth  which  he 
would  one  day  possess  he  had  not  earned  a 
groat.  And,  were  it  lost,  the  quadrature  of 
the  circle  would  not  be  more  difficult  than 
its  restoration.  And  yet,  and  yet — though 
any  man  she  could  meet  might  be  better 
and  wiser  and  stronger  than  he,  not  one 
would  care  for  her  more.  At  least  there 
was  something  in  that,  a  tangible  value,  if 


Tristrem  Varick.  57 

ever  there  were  one.  There  was  every 
reason  why  she  should  turn  her  back,  and 
that  one  reason,  and  that  one  only,  why  she 
should  not.  But  that  one  reason,  he  told 
himself,  was  a  force  in  itself.  The  re- 
suscitation of  hope  was  so  sudden  that  the 
blood  mounted  to  his  temples  and  pulsated 
through  his  veins. 

He  left  the  bed  in  which  his  meditations 
had  been  passed.  "  They  say  everything 
comes  to  him  who  waits,"  he  muttered,  and 
then  proceeded  to  dress.  He  took  a  tub 
and  got  himself,  absent-mindedly,  into  a 
morning  suit.  "I  don't  believe  it,"  he  ex- 
claimed, at  last,  "  the  world  belongs  to  the 
impatient,  and  I  am  impatient  of  her." 

Tristrem  was  in  no  sense  a  diplomatist. 
In  his  ways  there  was  a  candor  that  was  as 
unusual  as  it  is  delightful ;  yet  such  is  the 
power  of  love  that,  in  its  first  assault,  the 
victim  is  transformed.  The  miser  turns 
prodigal,  the  coward  brave,  the  genius  be- 
comes a  simpleton,  and  in  the  simpleton 
there  awakes  a  Machiavelli.  Tristrem 
passed  a  forenoon  in  trying  to  unravel  as 
cruel  a  problem  as  has  ever  been  given  a 
lover  to  solve — how,  in  a  city  like  New 


52  Tristrem  Varick. 

York,  to  meet  a  girl  of  whom  he  knew  ab- 
solutely nothing,  and  who  was  probably 
unaware  of  his  own  existence.  He  might 
have  waited,  it  is  true — chance  holds  many 
an  odd  trick — but  he  had  decided  to  be  im- 
patient, and  in  his  impatience  he  went  to 
Gramercy  Park  and  drank  tea  there,  not 
once,  but  four  afternoons  in  succession,  an 
excess  of  civility  which  surprised  Mrs. 
Weldon  not  a  little. 

That  he  should  make  an  early  visit  of 
digestion  was  quite  in  the  order  of  things, 
but  when  that  visit  was  repeated  again  and 
again,  Mrs.  Weldon,  with  a  commingling  of 
complacency  and  alarm,  told  herself  that, 
in  her  quality  of  married  woman,  such  per- 
sistence should  be  discouraged.  But  the 
opportunity  for  such  discouragement  did 
not  present  itself,  or  rather,  when  it  did  the 
need  of  discouragement  had  passed.  Tris- 
trem drank  tea  with  her  several  times,  and 
then  disappeared  abruptly.  "  He  must 
have  known  it  was  hopeless,"  she  reflected, 
when  a  week  went  by  unmarked  by  further 
enterprise  on  his  part.  And  then,  the  in- 
tended discouragement  notwithstanding,  she 
felt  vaguely  vexed. 


Tristrem  Varick.  53 

In  the  tea-drinking  Tristrem's  object,  if 
not  apparent  to  Mrs.  Weldon,  was  perfectly 
clear  to  himself.  He  desired  to  learn  some- 
thing of  Miss  Raritan,  and  he  knew,  if  the 
tea-drinking  was  continued  with  sufficient 
endurance,  not  only  would  he  acquire,  from 
a  talkative  lady  like  his  hostess,  information 
of  the  amplest  kind,  which  after  all  was 
secondary,  but  that  in  the  course  of  a  week 
the  girl  herself  must  put  in  an  appearance. 
A  dinner  call,  if  not  obligatory  to  him, 
was  obligatory  to  her,  and  on  that  obliga- 
tion he  counted. 

To  those  who  agree  to  be  bound  by  what 
the  Western  press  calls  etiquette,  there  is 
nothing  more  inexorable  than  a  social  debt. 
A  woman  may  contest  her  mantua-maker's 
bill  with  impunity,  her  antenuptial  prom- 
ises may  go  to  protest  and  she  remain  un- 
estopped  ;  but  let  her  leave  a  dinner-call 
overdue  and  unpaid,  then  is  she  shameless 
indeed.  In  this  code  Tristrem  was  neces- 
sarily learned.  On  returning  to  Fifth 
Avenue  he  had  marvelled  somewhat  at 
noting  that  laws  which  applied  to  one  sex 
did  not  always  extend  to  the  other,  that 
civility  was  not  exacted  of  men,  that  polite- 


54  Tristrem  Varich. 

ness  was  relegated  to  the  tape-counter  and 
out  of  place  in  a  drawing-room  ;  in  a  word, 
that  it  was  not  good  form  to  be  courteous, 
and  not  ill-bred  to  be  rude. 

While  the  tea-drinking  was  in  progress 
he  managed  without  much  difficulty  to  get 
Mrs.  Weldon  on  the  desired  topic.  There 
were  spacious  digressions  in  her  informa- 
tion and  abrupt  excursions  into  irrelevant 
matter,  and  there  were  also  interruptions 
by  other  visitors,  and  the  consequent  and 
tedious  exchange  of  platitude  and  small- 
talk.  But  after  the  fourth  visit  Tristrem 
found  himself  in  possession  of  a  store  of 
knowledge,  the  sum  and  substance  of  which 
amounted  to  this  :  Miss  Raritan  lived  with 
her  mother  in  the  shady  part  of  the  Thir- 
ties, near  Madison  Avenue.  Her  father  was 
dead.  It  had  been  rumored,  but  with  what 
truth  Mrs.  Weldon  was  not  prepared  to 
affirm,  that  the  girl  had  some  intention  of 
appearing  on  the  lyric  stage,  which,  if  she 
carried  out,  would  of  course  be  the  end  of 
her  socially.  She  had  been  very  much  run 
after  on  account  of  her  voice,  and  at  the 
Wainwarings  the  President  had  said  that  he 
had  never  heard  anything  like  it,  and  asked 


Tristrem  Varick.  55 

her  to  come  to  Washington  and  be  present 
at  one  of  the  diplomatic  dinners.  Personally 
Mrs.  Weldon  knew  her  very  slightly,  but 
she  intimated  that,  inasmuch  as  the  govern- 
ment had  once  sent  Raritan  pere  abroad  as 
minister — in  order  probably  to  be  rid  of 
him — his  daughter  was  inclined  to  look 
down  on  those  whose  fathers  held  less  ex- 
alted positions — on  Mrs.  Weldon  herself,  for 
example. 

It  was  with  this  little  store  of  information 
that  Tristrem  left  her  on  the  Thursday  suc- 
ceeding the  dinner.  It  was  meagre  indeed, 
and  yet  ample  enough  to  afford  him  food 
for  reflection.  During  the  gleaning  many 
people  had  come  and  gone,  but  of  Miss 
Raritan  he  had  as  yet  seen  nothing.  The 
next  afternoon,  however,  as  he  was  about 
to  ascend  Mrs.  Weldon's  stoop  for  the  fifth 
time  in  five  days,  the  door  opened  and  the 
girl  on  whom  his  thoughts  were  centred 
was  before  him. 

Throughout  the  week  he  had  lived  in  the 
expectation  of  meeting  her,  it  was  the  one 
thing  that  had  brought  zest  to  the  day  and 
dreams  to  the  night ;  there  was  even  a  little 
speech  which  he  had  rehearsed,  but  for  the 


5&  Tristrem  Varick. 

moment  he  was  dumb.  He  plucked  absently 
at  his  cuff,  to  the  palms  of  his  hands  there 
came  a  sudden  moisture.  In  the  vestibule 
above,  a  servant  stood  waiting  for  Miss  Rar- 
itan  to  reach  the  pavement  before  closing 
the  door,  and  abruptly,  from  a  barrel-organ 
at  the  corner,  a  waltz  was  thrown  out  in  jolts. 

The  girl  descended  the  steps  before  Tris- 
trem was  able  to  master  his  emotion. 

"  Miss  Raritan,"  he  began,  hastily,  "  I 
don't  suppose  you  remember  me.  I  am 
Mr.  Varick.  I  heard  you  sing  the  other 
night.  I  have  come  here  every  day  since 

in  the  hope  of ;  you  see,  I  wanted  to 

ask  if  I  might  not  have  the  privilege  of 
hearing  you  sing  again  ? " 

"  If  you  consider  it  a  privilege,  certainly. 
On  Sunday  evening,  though,  I  thought  you 
seemed  rather  bored."  She  made  this  an- 
swer very  graciously,  with  her  head  held 
like  a  bird's,  a  trifle  to  one  side. 

Tristrem  gazed  at  her  in  a  manner  that 
would  have  mollified  a  tigress.  "  I  was  not 
bored.  I  had  never  heard  anyone  sing  be- 
fore." 

"Yet  your  friend,  Mr.  Weldon,  tells  me 
that  you  are  very  fond  of  music." 


Tristrem  Varick.  57 

"  That  is  exactly  what  I  mean." 

At  this  speech  of  his  she  looked  at  him, 
musingly.  "  I  wish  I  deserved  that,"  she  said. 

Tristrem  began  again  with  new  courage. 
"  It  is  like  anything  else,  I  fancy.  I  doubt 
if  anyone,  ignorant  of  difficulties  overcome, 
ever  appreciates  a  masterpiece.  A  sonnet, 
if  perfect,  is  only  perfect  to  a  sonneteer. 
The  gallery  may  applaud  a  drama,  it  is  the 
playwright  who  judges  it  at  its  worth.  It 
is  the  sculptor  that  appreciates  a  Can- 
ova " 

They  had  reached  the  corner  where  the 
barrel-organ  was  in  ambush.  A  woman 
dragging  a  child  with  Italy  and  dirt  in  its 
face  followed  them,  her  hand  outstretched. 
Tristrem  had  an  artful  way  of  being  rid  of 
a  beggar,  and  after  the  fumble  of  a  moment 
he  gave  her  some  coin. 

"  And  the  artist  who  appreciates 

rags,"  added  Miss  Raritan. 

"  Perhaps.  I  am  not  fond  of  rags  myself, 
but  I  have  often  caught  myself  envying  the 
simplicity  which  they  sometimes  conceal. 
That  woman,  now,  she  may  be  as  pleased 
with  my  little  gift  as  I  am  to  be  walking 
with  you." 


5#  Tristrem  Varick. 

"  I  thought  it  was  my  voice  you  liked," 
Miss  Raritan  answered,  demurely. 

Tristrem  experienced  a  mental  start.  A 
suspicion  entered  his  mind  which  he  chased 
indignantly.  There  was  about  the  girl  an 
aroma  that  was  incompatible  with  coquet- 
ry. 

"You  would  not,  I  am  sure,  have  me 
think  of  you  in  the  vox  et  praterea  nihil 
style,"  he  replied.  "  To  be  candid,  I 
thought  that  very  matter  over  the  other 
night."  He  hesitated,  as  though  waiting  for 
some  question,  but  she  did  not  so  much  as 
look  at  him,  and  he  continued  unassisted. 
"  I  thought  of  a  flower  and  its  perfume,  I 
wondered  which  was  the  more  admirable, 
and — and — I  decided  that  I  did  not  care  for 
tulips." 

"But  that  you  did  care  for  me,  I  sup- 
pose ? " 

"Yes,  I  decided  that." 

Miss  Raritan  threw  back  her  head  with  a 
movement  indicative  of  impatience. 

"  I  didn't  mean  to  tell  you,"  he  added— 
"  that  is,  not  yet." 

They  had  crossed  Broadway  and  were 
entering  Fifth  Avenue.  There  the  stream 


Tristrem  Varick.  59 

of  carriages  kept  them  a  moment  on  the 
curb. 

"I  hope,"  Tristrem  began  again,  "I  hope 
you  are  not  vexed." 

"  Vexed  at  what  ?  No,  I  am  not  vexed. 
I  am  tired ;  every  other  man  I  meet — 
There,  we  can  cross  now.  Besides,  I  am 
married.  Don't  get  run  over.  I  am  going 
in  that  shop." 

"  You  are  not  married  !  " 

"  Yes,  I  am  ;  if  I  were  a  Harvard  graduate 
I  would  say  to  Euterpe.  As  it  is,  Scales 
is  more  definite."  She  had  led  him  to  the 
door  of  a  milliner,  a  portal  which  Tristrem 
knew  was  closed  to  him.  "  If  you  care  to 
come  and  see  me,"  she  added,  by  way  of 
congt,  "  my  husband  will  probably  be  at 
home."  And  with  that  she  opened  the 
door  and  passed  into  the  shop. 

"  I  can  imagine  a  husband,"  thought 
Tristrem,  with  a  glimmer  of  that  spirit  of 
belated  repartee  which  Thackeray  called 
cab-wit,  the  brilliancy  which  comes  to  us 
when  we  are  going  home,  "  I  can  imagine 
a  husband  whose  greatest  merit  is  his  wife." 


60  Tristrem  l/arich. 


IV. 


THE  fact  that  few  days  elapsed  before 
Tristrem  Varick  availed  himself  of  Miss 
Raritan's  invitation,  and  that  thereafter  he 
continued  to  avail  himself  of  it  with  fre- 
quence and  constancy,  should  surprise  no 
one.  During  the  earliest  of  these  visits  he 
met  Miss  Raritan's  mother,  and  was  unac- 
countably annoyed  when  he  heard  that  lady 
address  her  daughter  as  Viola.  He  had 
been  so  sure  that  her  baptismal  name  was 
Madeleine  that  the  one  by  which  he  found 
she  was  called  sounded  false  as  an  alias,  and 
continued  so  to  sound  until  he  accustomed 
himself  to  the  syllables  and  ended  by  prefer- 
ring it  to  the  Madeleine  of  his  fancy.  This, 
however,  by  the  way.  Mrs.  Raritan  was 
a  woman  who,  in  her  youth,  must  have  been 
very  beautiful,  and  traces  of  that  beauty  she 
still  preserved.  When  she  spoke  her  voice 
endeared  her  to  you,  and  in  her  manner 
there  was  that  something  which  made  you 
feel  that  she  might  be  calumniated,  as  good 
women  often  are,  but  yet  that  she  could 
never  be  the  subject  of  gossip.  She  did  not 


Tristrem  Varich.  61 

seem  resolute,  but  she  did  seem  warm  of 
heart,  and  Tristrem  felt  at  ease  with  her  at 
once. 

Of  her  he  saw  at  first  but  little.  In  a  city 
like  New  York  it  is  difficult  for  anyone  to 
become  suddenly  intimate  in  a  household, 
however  cordial  and  well-intentioned  that 
household  may  be.  And  during  those  hours 
of  the  winter  days  when  Miss  Raritan  was 
at  home  it  was  seldom  that  her  mother  was 
visible.  But  it  was  not  long  before  Tris- 
trem became  an  occasional  guest  at  dinner, 
and  it  was  in  the  process  of  breaking  bread 
that  a  semblance  of  intimacy  was  estab- 
lished. And  at  last,  when  winter  had  gone 
and  the  green  afternoons  opposed  the  dusk, 
Tristrem  now  and  then  would  drop  in  of  an 
evening,  and  in  the  absence  of  Miss  Raritan 
pass  an  hour  with  her  mother.  Truly  she 
was  not  the  rose,  but  did  she  not  dwell  at 
her  side  ? 

Meanwhile,  Miss  Raritan's  attitude  dif- 
fered but  little  from  the  one  which  she  had 
first  adopted.  She  treated  Tristrem  with 
exasperating  familiarity,  and  kept  him  at 
arm's  length.  She  declined  to  see  him  when 
the  seeing  would  have  been  easy,  and  sum- 


62  Tristrem  Varick. 

moned  him  when  the  summons  was  least  to 
be  expected.  He  was  useful  to  her  as  a 
piece  of  furniture,  and  she  utilized  him  as 
such.  In  the  matter  of  flowers  and  theatres 
he  was  a  convenience.  And  at  routs  and 
assemblies  the  attention  of  an  heir  apparent 
to  seven  million  was  a  homage  and  a  trib- 
ute which  Miss  Raritan  saw  no  reason  to 
forego. 

In  this  Tristrem  had  no  one  but  himself 
to  blame.  He  had  been,  and  was,  almost 
canine  in  his  demeanor  to  her.  She  saw  it, 
knew  it,  felt  it,  and  treated  him  accordingly. 
And  he,  with  the  cowardice  of  love,  made 
little  effort  at  revolt.  Now  and  then  he  pro- 
tested to  Mrs.  Raritan,  to  whom  he  had 
made  no  secret  of  his  admiration  for  her 
daughter,  and  who  consoled  him  as  best  she 
might ;  but  that  was  all.  And  so  the  winter 
passed  and  the  green  afternoons  turned  sul- 
try, and  Tristrem  was  not  a  step  further  ad- 
vanced than  on  the  day  when  he  had  left 
the  girl  at  the  milliner's.  On  the  infrequent 
occasions  when  he  had  ventured  to  say 
some  word  of  that  which  was  nearest  his 
heart,  she  had  listened  with  tantalizing  com- 
posure, and  when  he  had  paused  for  en- 


Tristrem  Varick.  6} 

couragement  or  rebuke,  she  would  make  a 
remark  of  such  inappositeness  that  anyone 
else  would  have  planted  her  there  and  gone. 
But  Tristrem  was  none  other  than  himself  ; 
his  nature  commanded  and  he  obeyed. 

It  so  happened  that  one  May  morning  a 
note  was  brought  him,  in  which  Miss  Rari- 
tan  said  that  her  mother  and  herself  were 
to  leave  in  a  day  or  two  for  the  country,  and 
could  he  not  get  her  something  to  read  on 
the  way.  Tristrem  passed  an  hour  select- 
ing, with  infinite  and  affectionate  care,  a 
small  bundle  of  foreign  literature.  In  the 
package  he  found  room  for  Balzac's  "  Pier- 
rette "  and  the  "  Cure  de  Tours,"  one  of 
Mme.  Craven's  stupidities,  a  volume  of 
platitude  in  rhyme  by  Fra^ois  Coppee,  a 
copy  of  De  Amicis'  futile  wanderings  in 
Spain — a  few  samples,  in  fact,  of  the  pueris 
virginibusque  school.  And  that  evening,  with 
the  bundle  under  his  arm,  he  sought  Miss 
Raritan. 

The  girl  glanced  at  the  titles  and  put  the 
books  aside.  "  When  we  get  in  order  at 
Narragansett,"  she  said,  "  I  wish  you  would 
come  up." 

Had  she  kissed  him,  Tristrem  could  not 


64  Tristrem  Varick. 

have  revelled  more.  "There  are  any 
number  of  hotels,"  she  added,  by  way  of 
douche. 

" Certainly,  if  you  wish  it,  but — but " 

"Well,  but  what?" 

"I  don't  know.  You  see — well,  it's  this 
way :  You  know  that  I  love  you,  and  you 
know  also  that  you  care  for  me  as  for  the 
snows  of  yester-year.  There  is  no  reason 
why  you  should  do  otherwise.  I  don't 
mean  to  complain.  If  I  am  unable  to  make 
you  care,  the  fault  is  mine.  I  did  think — 
h'm — no  matter.  What  I  wanted  to  say  is 
this  :  there  is  no  reason  why  you  should 

care,  and  yet .  See  here  ;  take  two  slips 

of  paper,  write  on  one,  I  will  marry  you, 
and,  on  the  other,  Put  a  bullet  through 
your  head,  and  let  me  draw.  I  would  take 
the  chance  so  gladly.  But  that  chance,  of 
course,  you  will  not  give.  Why  should 
you,  after  all  ?  Why  should  I  give  every- 
thing I  own  to  the  first  beggar  I  meet  ?  But 
why  should  you  have  any  other  feeling  for 
me  than  that  which  you  have  ?  And  yet, 
sometimes  I  think  you  don't  understand. 
Any  man  you  meet  could  be  more  attract- 
ive than  I,  and  very  easy  he  would  find  it 


Tristrem  Varick.  65 

to  be  so  ;  but  no  one  could  care  for  you 
more — no  one " 

Miss  Raritan  was  sitting  opposite  to  him, 
her  feet  crossed,  her  head  thrown  back,  her 
eyes  fixed  on  the  ceiling.  One  arm  lay 
along  the  back  of  the  lounge  which  she  oc- 
cupied, the  other  was  pendant  at  her  side. 
And  while  he  still  addressed  her,  she  arose 
with  the  indolence  of  a  panther,  crossed  the 
room,  picked  up  a  miniature  from  a  table, 
eyed  it  as  though  she  had  never  seen  it  be- 
fore and  did  not  particularly  care  to  see  it 
again,  and  then,  seating  herself  at  the  piano, 
she  attacked  the  //  segreto  per  esser  felice,  the 
brindisi  from  "  Lucrezia  Borgia." 

In  the  wonder  of  her  voice  Tristrem  for- 
got the  discourtesy  of  the  action.  He  lis- 
tened devoutly.  And,  as  he  listened,  each 
note  was  an  electric  shock.  //  segreto  per 
esserfelice,  indeed  !  The  secret  of  happiness 
was  one  which  she  alone  of  all  others  in  the 
world  could  impart.  And,  as  the  measures 
of  the  song  rose  and  fell,  they  brought  him 
a  transient  exhilaration  like  to  that  which 
comes  of  champagne,  dowering  him  with 
factitious  force  wherewith  to  strive  anew. 

And  so  it  happened  that,  when  the  ultimate 
5 


66  Tristrem  Varich. 

note  had  rung  out  and  the  girl's  fingers 
loitered  on  the  keys,  he  went  over  to  her 
with  a  face  so  eloquent  that  she  needed  but 
a  glance  at  it  to  know  what  he  was  seeking 
to  say. 

With  a  gesture  coercive  as  a  bit,  she  lift- 
ed one  hand  from  the  keys  and  stayed  his 
lips.  Then,  she  stood  up  and  faced  him. 
"Tristrem,"  she  began,  "when  I  first  saw 
you  I  told  you  that  I  was  married  to  my 
art.  And  in  an  art  such  as  mine  there  is 
no  divorce.  It  may  be  that  I  shall  go  on 
the  stage.  After  all,  why  should  I  not  ?  Is 
society  so  alluring  that  I  should  sacrifice 
for  it  that  which  is  to  me  infinitely  prefer- 
able ?  If  I  have  not  done  so  already  it  is 
because  of  my  mother.  But  should  I  de- 
cide to  do  so,  there  are  years  of  study  be- 
fore me  yet  In  which  case  I  could  not 
marry,  that  is  self-evident,  not  only  because 
I  would  not  marry  a  man  who  would  suffer 
me  to  sing  in  public — don't  interrupt — but 
also  because — well,  you  told  me  that  you 
understood  the  possibilities  of  the  human 
voice,  and  you  must  know  what  the  result 
would  be.  But  even  independent  of  that, 
you  said  a  moment  ago  that  I  did  not  love 


Tristrem  Varick.  67 

you.  Well,  I  don't.  I  don't  love  you. 
Tristrem,  listen  to  me.  I  don't  love  you  as 
you  would  have  me.  I  wish  I  did.  But  I 
like  you.  I  like  you  as  I  can  like  few  other 
men.  Tristrem,  except  my  mother,  I  have 
not  a  friend  in  the  world.  Women  never 
care  for  me,  and  men — well,  save  in  the  case 
of  yourself,  when  their  friendship  has  been 
worth  the  having,  it  belonged  to  someone 
else.  Give  me  yours." 

"It  will  be  hard,  very  hard." 

Miss  Raritan  moved  from  where  she  had 
been  standing  and  glanced  at  the  clock. 
"  You  must  go  now,"  she  said,  "  but  prom- 
ise that  you  will  try." 

She  held  her  hand  to  him,  and  Tristrem 
raised  it  to  his  lips  and  kissed  the  wrist. 
"You  might  as  well  ask  me  to  increase  my 
stature,"  he  answered.  And  presently  he 
dropped  the  hand  which  he  held  and  left 
the  house. 

It  was  a  perfect  night.  The  moon  hung 
like  a  yellow  feather  in  the  sky,  and  in  the 
air  was  a  balm  that  might  have  come  from 
fields  of  tamaris  and  of  thyme.  The  street 
itself  was  quiet,  and  as  Tristrem  walked  on, 
something  of  the  enchantment  of  the  hour 


68  Tristrem  Varich. 

fell  upon  him.  On  leaving  Miss  Raritan, 
he  had  been  irritated  at  himself.  It  seemed 
to  him  that  when  with  her  he  was  at  his 
worst ;  that  he  stood  before  her  dumb  for 
love,  awkward,  embarrassed,  and  ineffectual 
of  speech.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  lacked 
the  tact  of  other  men,  and  that,  could  she 
see  him  as  he  really  was  when  unemotional- 
ized  by  her  presence,  if  the  eloquence  which 
came  to  him  in  solitude  would  visit  him 
once  at  her  side,  if  he  could  plead  to  her 
with  the  fervor  with  which  he  addressed 
the  walls,  full  surely  her  answer  would  be 
other.  She  would  make  no  proffer  then  of 
friendship,  or  if  she  did,  it  would  be  of  that 
friendship  which  is  born  of  love,  and  is  bet- 
ter than  love  itself.  But  as  he  walked  on 
the  enchantment  of  the  night  encircled  him. 
He  declined  to  accept  her  reply  ;  he  told 
himself  that  in  his  eagerness  he  had  been 
abrupt ;  that  a  girl  who  was  worth  the  win- 
ning was  slow  of  capture  ;  that  he  had  ex- 
pected months  to  give  him  what  only  years 
could  afford,  and  that  Time,  in  which  all 
things  unroll,  might  yet  hold  this  gift  for 
him.  He  resolved  to  put  his  impatience 
aside  like  an  unbecoming  coat.  He  would 


Tristrem  1/arick.  69 

pretend  to  be  but  a  friend.  As  a  friend  he 
would  be  privileged  to  see  her,  and  then, 
some  day  the  force  and  persistence  of  his 
affection  would  do  the  rest.  He  smiled  at 
his  own  cunning.  It  was  puerile  as  a  jack- 
straw,  but  it  seemed  shrewdness  itself  to 
him.  Yes,  that  was  the  way.  He  had  done 
wrong ;  he  had  unmasked  his  batteries  too 
soon.  And  such  batteries  !  But  no  matter, 
of  his  patience  he  was  now  assured.  On 
the  morrow  he  would  go  to  her  and  begin 
the  campaign  anew. 

He  had  reached  the  corner  and  was  on 
the  point  of  turning  down  the  avenue,  when 
a  hansom  rattled  up  and  wheeled  so  sud- 
denly into  the  street  through  which  he  had 
come,  that  he  stepped  back  a  little  to  let  it 
pass.  As  he  did  so  he  looked  in  at  the  fare. 
The  cab  was  beyond  him  in  a  second,  but  in 
the  momentary  glimpse  which  he  caught  of 
the  occupant,  he  recognized  Royal  Weldon. 
And  as  he  continued  his  way,  he  wondered 
where  Royal  Weldon  could  be  going. 

The  following  evening  he  went  to  dine  at 
the  Athenaeum  Club.  The  house  in  Wav- 
erley  Place  affected  him  as  might  an  empty 
bier  in  a  tomb.  The  bread  that  he  broke 


70  Tristrem  I/arick. 

there  choked  him.  His  father  was  as  con- 
genial as  a  spectre.  He  only  appeared 
when  dinner  was  announced,  and  after  he 
had  seated  himself  at  the  table  he  asked 
grace  of  God  in  a  low,  determined  fashion, 
and  that  was  the  end  of  the  conversation. 
Tristrem  remembered  that  in  the  infrequent 
vacations  of  his  school  and  college  days, 
that  was  the  way  it  always  had  been,  and 
being  tolerably  convinced  that  that  was  the 
way  it  always  would  be,  he  preferred,  when 
not  expected  elsewhere,  to  dine  at  the  club. 

On  entering  the  Athenaeum  on  this  par- 
ticular evening,  he  put  his  hat  and  coat  in 
the  vestiary  and  was  about  to  order  dinner, 
when  he  was  accosted  by  Alphabet  Jones. 

"  I  say,  Varick,"  the  novelist  exclaimed — 
(during  the  winter  they  had  seen  much  of 
each  other),  "  do  you  know  who  was  the 
originator  of  the  cloak-room  ?  Of  course 
you  don't — I'll  tell  you  ;  who  do  you  sup- 
pose now  ?  Give  it  up  ?  Mrs.  Potiphar  ! 
How's  that  ?  Good  enough  for  Theodore 
Hook,  eh  ?  Let's  dine  together,  and  I'll 
tell  you  some  more." 

"  Let's  dine  together "  was  a  formula 
which  Mr.  Jones  had  adopted.  Literally,  it 


Tristrem  Varick.  ji 

meant,  I'll  order  and  you  pay.  Tristrem 
was  aware  in  what  light  the  invitation 
should  be  viewed,  he  had  heard  it  before  ; 
but,  though  the  novelist  was  of  the  genus 
spongia,  he  was  seldom  tiresome,  often  enter- 
taining, and  moreover,  Tristrem  was  one 
who  would  rather  pay  than  not.  As  there 
were  few  of  that  category  in  the  club,  Mr. 
Jones  made  a  special  prey  of  him,  and  on 
this  particular  evening,  when  the  ordering 
had  been  done  and  the  dinner  announced, 
he  led  him  in  triumph  to  the  lift. 

As  they  were  about  to  step  in,  Weldon 
stepped  out.  He  seemed  hurried  and 
would  have  passed  on  with  a  nod,  but  Tris- 
trem caught  him  by  the  arm.  Of  late  he 
had  seen  little  of  him,  and  it  had  seemed  to 
Tristrem  that  the  fault,  if  fault  there  were, 
must  be  his  own. 

"  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  you  last  night, 
didn't  I,  Royal  ? "  he  asked. 

Weldon  raised  his  eyebrows  for  all  re- 
sponse. Evidently  he  was  not  in  a  con- 
versational mood.  But  at  once  an  idea 
seemed  to  strike  him.  "  I  dare  say,"  he  an- 
swered, "  I  roam  about  now  and  then  like 
anyone  else.  By  the  way,  where  are  you 


72  Tristrem 

going  to-night  ?  Why  not  look  in  on  my 
wife  ?  She  says  you  neglect  her." 

"  I  would  like  it,  Royal,  but  the  fact  is  I 
am  going  to  make  a  call." 

"  In  Thirty-ninth  Street  ?" 

Tristrem  looked  at  him  much  as  a  yokel 
at  a  fair  might  look  at  a  wizard.  He  was 
so  astonished  at  Weldon's  prescience  that 
he  merely  nodded. 

"  You  can  save  yourself  the  trouble  then 
— I  happened  to  meet  Miss  Raritan  this  af- 
ternoon. She  is  dining  at  the  Wainwarings. 
Look  in  at  Gramercy  Park."  And  with 
that  he  turned  on  his  heel  and  disappeared 
into  the  smoking-room. 

"  Didn't  I  hear  Weldon  mention  Miss 
Raritan  ?  "  Jones  asked,  when  he  and  Tris- 
trem had  finished  the  roast.  "  There's  a  girl 
I'd  like  to  put  in  a  book.  She  has  hell  in 
her  eyes  and  heaven  in  her  voice.  What  a 
heroine  she  would  make  !  "  he  exclaimed, 
enthusiastically;  and  then  in  a  complete 
change  of  key,  in  a  tone  that  was  pregnant 
with  suggestion,  he  added,  "  and  what  a 
wife  !  " 

"  I  don't  understand  you,"  said  Tristrem, 
in  a  manner  which,  for  him,  was  defiant. 


Tristrem  Varick.  j$ 

Whether  or  not  Jones  was  a  good  sailer 
is  a  matter  of  small  moment.  In  any  event 
he  tacked  at  once. 

"  Bah  !  I  am  speaking  in  the  first  person. 
I  don't  believe  in  matrimony  myself,  I  am 
too  poor.  And  besides,  I  never  heard  of 
but  one  happy  marriage,  and  that  was  be- 
tween a  blind  man  and  a  deaf-mute.  Though 
even  then  it  must  have  been  difficult  to 
know  what  the  woman  thought.  Now,  in 
regard  to  Miss  Raritan,  half  the  men  in  the 
city  are  after  her,  pour  le  bon  motif,  s'entend  -, 
but  when  a  girl  has  had  the  dessus  du panic r 
at  her  feet,  no  fellow  can  afford  to  ask  her 
to  take  a  promenade  with  him  down  the 
aisle  of  Grace  Church,  unless  he  has  the 
Chemical  Bank  in  one  pocket  and  the 
United  States  Trust  Company  in  the  other. 
Et  avec  $a  !  "  And  Jones  waved  his  head 
as  though  not  over-sure  that  the  coffers  of 
those  institutions  would  suffice. 

"  I  don't  see  what  that  has  to  do  with  it," 
Tristrem  indignantly  interjected. 

"  Isn't  that  odd  now  ?"  was  Jones'  sarcas- 
tic reply.  "  Dr.  Holmes  says  that  no  fellow 
can  be  a  thorough-going  swell  unless  he  has 
three  generations  in  oil.  And  mind  you, 


74  Tristrem  Varick. 

daguerreotypes  won't  do.  There  are  any 
number  of  your  ancestors  strung  along  the 
walls  of  the  Historical  Society,  and  how 
many  more  you  may  have  in  that  crypt 
of  yours  in  Waverley  Place,  heaven  only 
knows.  Imprimis,  if  you  accept  Dr.  Holmes 
as  an  authority,  you  are  a  thorough-going 
swell.  In  the  second  place,  you  look  like  a 
Greek  shepherd.  Third,  you  are  the  big- 
gest catch  in  polite  society.  Certainly  it's 
odd  that  with  such  possibilities  you  should 
see  no  reason  for  not  marrying  a  girl  who 
will  want  higher- stepping  horses  than 
Elisha's,  and  who,  while  there  is  a  bandit  of 
a  dressmaker  in  Paris,  will  decline  to  imi- 
tate the  lilies  of  the  field.  Certainly— 

"  I  never  said  anything  about  it,  I  never 
said  anything  about  marrying  or  not  marry- 
ing " 

"Oh,  didn't  you?  I  thought  you  did." 
And  Jones  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and 
summoned  a  waiter  with  an  upward  move- 
ment of  the  chin.  "  Bring  another  pint  of 
this,  will  you." 

"  I  think  I  won't  take  anything  more," 
said  Tristrem,  rising  from  the  table  as  he 
spoke.  "  It's  hot  in  here.  I  may  see  you 


Tristrem  Varick.  75 

down-stairs."     And  with  that    he    left   the 
room. 

Mr.  Alphabet  Jones  looked  after  him  a 
second  and  nodded  sagaciously  to  himself. 
"Another  man  overboard,"  he  muttered,  as 
he  toyed  with  his  empty  glass.  "Ah  /  jeu- 
nesse,  jeunesse  !  " 


V. 


TRISTREM  descended  the  stair  and  hesi- 
tated a  moment  at  the  door  of  the  smoking- 
room.  Near-by,  at  a  small  table,  two  men 
were  drinking  brandy.  He  caught  a  frag- 
ment of  their  speech  :  it  was  about  a  wom- 
an. Beyond,  another  group  was  listening 
to  that  story  of  the  eternal  feminine  which 
is  everlastingly  the  same.  Within,  the  air 
was  lifeless  and  heavy  with  the  odor  of 
cigars,  but  in  the  hall  there  came  through 
the  wide  portals  of  the  entrance  the  irresist- 
ible breath  of  a  night  in  May. 

Tristrem  turned  and  presently  sauntered 
aimlessly  out  of  the  club  and  up  the  avenue. 
Before  him,  a  man  was  loitering  with  a  girl ; 
his  arm  was  in  hers,  and  he  was  whispering 
in  her  ear.  A  cab  passed,  bearing  a  couple 


y6  Tris.tr em  Varick. 

that  sat  waist-encircled  devouring  each 
other  with  insatiate  eyes.  And  at  Twenty- 
third  Street,  a  few  shop-girls,  young  and 
very  pretty,  that  were  laughing  conspicu- 
ously together,  were  joined  by  some  clerks, 
with  whom  they  paired  off  and  disappeared. 
At  the  corner,  through  the  intersecting 
thoroughfares  came  couple  after  couple,  si- 
lent for  the  most  part,  as  though  oppressed 
by  the  invitations  of  the  night.  Beyond,  in 
the  shadows  of  the  Square,  the  benches  were 
filled  with  youths  and  maidens,  who  sat 
hand-in-hand,  oblivious  to  the  crowd  that 
circled  in  indolent  coils  about  them.  The 
moon  had  not  yet  risen,  but  a  leash  of  stars 
that  night  had  loosed  glowed  and  trembled 
with  desire.  The  air  was  sentient  with  mur- 
murs, redolent  with  promise.  The  avenues 
and  the  adjacent  streets  seemed  to  have  for- 
gotten their  toil  and  to  swoon  unhushed  in 
the  bewitchments  of  a  dream  of  love. 

Tristrem  found  himself  straying  through 
its  mazes  and  convolutions.  Whichever  way 
he  turned  there  was  some  monition  of  its 
presence.  From  a  street-car  which  had 
stayed  his  passage  he  saw  the  conductor 
blow  a  kiss  to  a  hurrying  form,  and  through 


Tristrem  Varick.  77 

an  open  window  of  Delmonico's  he  saw  a 
girl  with  summer  in  her  eyes  reach  across 
the  table  at  which  she  sat  and  give  her  com- 
panion's hand  an  abrupt  yet  deliberate 
caress. 

Tristrem  continued  his  way,  oppressed. 
He  was  beset  by  an  insidious  duscholia. 
He  felt  as  one  does  who  witnesses  a  festival 
in  which  there  is  no  part  for  him.  The  town 
reeked  with  love  as  a  brewery  reeks  with 
beer.  The  stars,  the  air,  the  very  pavements 
told  of  it.  It  was  omnipresent,  and  yet 
there  was  none  for  him. 

He  tried  to  put  it  from  him  and  think  of 
other  things.  Of  Jones,  for  instance.  Why 
had  he  spoken  of  Viola  ?  And  then,  in  the 
flight  of  fancies  which  surged  through  his 
mind,  there  was  one  that  he  stayed  and  de- 
tained. It  was  that  he  must  see  her  again 
before  she  left  town.  He  looked  at  his 
watch  :  it  lacked  twenty  minutes  to  ten,  and 
on  the  impulse  of  the  moment  he  hailed  a 
passing  'bus.  It  was  inexplicable  to  him 
that  the  night  before  she  should  have  let 
him  go  without  a  word  as  to  her  move- 
ments. It  seemed  to  be  understood  that 
he  was  to  come  again  to  wish  her  a  pleasant 


7#  Tristrem  Varick. 

journey.  And  when  was  he  to  come  if 
not  that  very  evening  ?  Surely  at  the  time 
she  had  forgotten  this  engagement  with 
the  Wainwarings,  and  some  note  had  been 
left  for  him  at  the  door.  And  if  no  note 
had  been  left,  then  why  should  he  not  ask 
for  her  mother  or  wait  till  she  returned? 
A  bell  rang  sharply  through  the  vehicle  and 
aroused  him  from  his  reverie.  He  glanced 
up,  and  saw  the  driver  eyeing  him  through 
the  machicoulis  of  glass.  It  was  the  fare 
he  wanted,  and  as  Tristrem  deposited  it  in 
the  box  he  noticed  that  the  familiar  street 
was  reached. 

In  a  few  moments  he  was  at  the  house. 
On  the  stoop  a  servant  was  occupied  with 
the  mat. 

"Is,  eh,  did " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  the  man  answered,  promptly. 
"  Miss  Raritan  is  in  the  parlor." 

In  the  surprise  at  the  unexpected,  Tris- 
trem left  his  hat  and  coat,  and  pushing  aside 
the  portiere,  he  entered  the  room  unan- 
nounced. At  first  he  fancied  that  the  ser- 
vant had  been  mistaken.  Miss  Raritan  was 
not  at  her  accustomed  place,  and  he  stood 
at  the  door-way  gazing  about  in  uncertainty. 


Tristrem  Varick.  79 

But  in  an  instant,  echoing  from  the  room 
beyond,  he  caught  the  sound  of  her  voice  ; 
yet  in  the  voice  was  a  tone  which  he  had 
never  heard  before — a  tone  of  smothered 
anger  that  carried  with  it  the  accent  of  hate. 
Moved  by  unconscious  springs,  he  left  the 
door-way  and  looked  into  the  adjoining 
room.  A  man  whom  at  first  he  did  not 
recognize  was  standing  by  a  lounge  from 
which  he  had  presumably  arisen.  And  be- 
fore him,  with  both  her  small  hands  clinched 
and  pendent,  and  in  her  exquisite  face  an 
expression  of  relentless  indignation,  stood 
Miss  Raritan.  Another  might  have  thought 
them  rehearsing  a  tableau  for  some  theatri- 
cals of  the  melodramatic  order,  but  not 
Tristrem.  He  felt  vaguely  alarmed  :  there 
came  to  him  that  premonition  without 
which  no  misfortune  ever  occurs  ;  and  sud- 
denly the  alarm  changed  to  bewilderment. 
The  man  had  turned :  it  was  Royal  Weldon. 
Tristrem  could  not  credit  his  senses.  He 
raised  his  hand  to  his  head  :  it  did  not  seem 
possible  that  a  felon  could  have  told  a  more 
wanton  lie  than  he  had  been  told  but  little 
over  an  hour  before  ;  and  yet  the  teller  of 
that  lie  was  his  nearest  friend.  And  still  he 


8o  Tristrem  Varick. 

did  not  understand  ;  surely  there  was  some 
mistake.  He  would  have  spoken,  but  Wei- 
don  crossed  the  room  to  where  he  stood, 
and  with  set  teeth  and  contracted  muscles 
fronted  him  a  second's  space,  and  into  his 
eyes  he  looked  a  defiance  that  was  the  more 
hideous  in  that  it  was  mute.  Then,  with  a 
gesture  that  almost  tore  the  portiere  from 
its  rings,  he  passed  out  into  the  hall  and  let 
the  curtain  fall  behind  him. 

As  he  passed  on  Tristrem  turned  with  the 
obedience  of  a  subject  under  the  influence 
of  a  mesmerist  ;  and  when  the  curtain  fell 
again  he  started  as  subjects  do  when  they 
awake  from  their  trance. 

The  fairest,  truest,  and  best  may  be 
stricken  in  the  flush  of  health  ;  yet  after 
the  grave  has  opened  and  closed  again  does 
not  memory  still  subsist,  and  to  the  mourner 
may  not  the  old  dreams  return  ?  However 
acute  the  grief  may  be,  is  it  not  often  better 
to  know  that  affection  is  safe  in  the  keeping 
of  the  dead  than  to  feel  it  at  the  mercy  of 
the  living  ?  We  may  prate  as  we  will,  but 
there  are  many  things  less  endurable  than 
the  funeral  of  the  best-beloved.  Death  is 
by  no  means  the  worst  that  can  come. 


Tristrem  Varick.  81 

Whoso  discovers  that  affection  reposed  has 
been  given  to  an  illusory  representation  ; 
to  one  not  as  he  is,  but  as  fancy  pictured 
him  ;  to  a  trickster  that  has  cheated  the 
heart — in  fact,  to  a  phantom  that  has  no 
real  existence  outside  of  the  imagination, 
must  experience  a  sinking  more  sickening 
than  any  corpse  can  convey.  At  the  mo- 
ment, the  crack  of  doom  that  is  to  herald  an 
eternal  silence  cannot  more  appal. 

Tristrem  still  stood  gazing  at  the  portiere 
through  which  Weldon  had  disappeared. 
He  heard  the  front  door  close,  and  the 
sound  of  feet  on  the  pavement.  And  pres- 
ently he  was  back  at  St.  Paul's,  hurrying 
from  the  Upper  School  to  intercede  with 
the  master.  It  was  bitterly  cold  that  morn- 
ing, but  in  the  afternoon  the  weather  had 
moderated,  and  they  had  both  gone  to  skate. 
And  then  the  day  he  first  came.  He  re- 
membered his  good  looks,  his  patronizing, 
precocious  ways  ;  everything,  even  to  the 
shirt  he  wore — blue,  striped  with  white — 
and  the  watch  with  the  crest  and  the  motto 
Well  done,  Weldon.  No,  it  was  ill  done,  Wel- 
don, and  the  lie  was  ignoble.  And  why  had 
he  told  it  ?  Their  friendship,  seemingly,  had 
6 


82  Tristrem  Varick. 

been  so  stanch,  so  unmarred  by  disagree- 
ment, that  this  lie  was  as  a  dash  of  blood  on 
a  white  wall — an  ineffaceable  stain. 

If  there  are  years  that  count  double,  there 
are  moments  in  which  the  hour-glass  is 
transfixed.  The  entire  scene,  from  Tris- 
trem's  entrance  to  Weldon's  departure,  was 
compassed  in  less  than  a  minute,  yet  during 
that  fragment  of  time  there  had  been 
enacted  a  drama  in  epitome — a  drama  hum- 
drum and  ordinary  indeed,  but  in  which 
Tristrem  found  himself  bidding  farewell  to 
one  whom  he  had  never  known. 

He  was  broken  in  spirit,  overwhelmed  by 
the  suddenness  of  the  disaster,  and  pres- 
ently, as  though  in  search  of  sympathy,  he 
turned  to  Miss  Raritan.  The  girl  had 
thrown  herself  in  a  chair,  and  sat,  her  face 
hidden  in  her  hands.  As  Tristrem  ap- 
proached her  she  looked  up.  Her  cheeks 
were  blanched. 

"  He  told  me  you  were  at  the  Wainwar- 
ing's,"  Tristrem  began.  "  I  don't  see,"  he 
added,  after  a  moment — "  I  don't  understand 
why  he  should  have  done  so.  He  knew 
you  were  here,  yet  he  said " 

"  Did  you  hear  what  he  said  to  me  ? " 


Tristrem  Varick.  83 

Tristrem  for  all  response  shook  his  head 
wonderingly. 

The  girl's  cheeks  from  white  had  turned 
to  flame. 

"  He  has  not  been  to  you  the  friend  you 
think,"  she  said,  and  raising  her  arm  to  her 
face,  she  made  a  gesture  as  though  to  brush 
from  her  some  distasteful  thing. 

"But  what  has  he  done?  What  did  he 
say  ? " 

"  Don't  ask  me.  Don't  mention  him  to 
me."  She  buried  her  face  again  in  her 
hands  and  was  silent. 

Tristrem  turned  uneasily  and  walked  into 
the  other  room,  and  then  back  again  to 
where  she  sat ;  but  still  she  hid  her  face  and 
was  silent.  And  Tristrem  left  her  and  con- 
tinued his  walk,  this  time  to  the  dining- 
room  and  then  back  to  the  parlor  which  he 
had  first  entered.  And  after  a  while  Miss 
Raritan  stood  up  from  her  seat,  and  as 
though  impelled  by  the  nervousness  of  her 
companion,  she,  too,  began  to  pace  the 
rooms,  but  in  the  contrary  direction  to  that 
which  Tristrem  had  chosen.  At  last  she 
stopped,  and  when  Tristrem  approached 
her  she  beckoned  him  to  her  side. 


84  Tristrem  Varick. 

"What  did  you  say  to  me  last  night?" 
she  asked. 

"  What  did  I  say  ?  I  said— you  asked  me 
— I  said  it  would  be  difficult." 

"  Do  you  think  so  still  ? " 

"Always." 

"  Tristrem,  I  will  be  your  wife." 

A  Cimmerian  led  out  of  darkness  into 
sudden  light  could  not  marvel  more  at  mul- 
ticolored vistas  than  did  Tristrem,  at  this 
promise.  Truly  they  are  most  hopeless  who 
have  hoped  the  most.  And  Tristrem,  as 
he  paced  the  rooms,  had  told  himself  it 
was  done.  His  hopes  had  scattered  before 
him  like  last  year's  leaves.  He  had  groped 
in  shadows  and  had  been  conscious  only  of 
a  blind  alley,  with  a  dead  wall,  somewhere, 
near  at  hand.  But  now,  abruptly,  the  shad- 
ows had  gone,  the  blind  alley  had  changed 
into  a  radiant  avenue,  the  dead  wall  had 
parted  like  a  curtain,  and  beyond  was  a  new 
horizon,  gold-barred  and  blue,  and  land- 
scapes of  asphodels  and  beckoning  palms. 
He  was  as  one  who,  overtaken  by  sleep  on 
the  banks  of  the  Styx,  awakes  in  Arcadia. 

His  face  was  so  eloquent  with  the  be- 
witchments through  which  he  roamed  that, 


Tristrem  l/arick.  85 

for  the  first  time  that  evening,  Miss  Raritan 
smiled.  She  raised  a  finger  warningly. 

"  Now,  Tristrem,  if  you  say  anything  ri- 
diculous I  will  take  it  back." 

But  the  warning  was  needless.  Tristrem 
caught  the  finger,  and  kissed  her  hand  with 
old-fashioned  grace. 

"Viola, "he  said,  at  last,  "I  thank  you. 
I  do  not  know  what  I  can  do  to  show  how 
I  appreciate  this  gift  of  gifts.  But  yet,  if 
it  is  anything,  if  it  can  bring  any  happiness 
to  a  girl  to  know  that  she  fills  a  heart  to 
fulfilment  itself,  that  she  dwells  in  thought 
as  the  substance  of  thought,  that  she  ani- 
mates each  fibre  of  another's  being,  that  she 
enriches  a  life  with  living  springs,  and  feels 
that  it  will  be  never  otherwise,  then  you 
will  be  happy,  for  so  you  will  always  be  to 
me." 

The  speech,  if  pardonably  incoherent,  was 
not  awkwardly  made,  and  it  was  delivered 
with  a  seriousness  that  befitted  the  occasion. 
In  a  tone  as  serious  as  his  own,  she  an- 
swered : 

"  I  will  be  true  to  you,  Tristrem."  That 
was  all.  But  she  looked  in  his  face  as  she 
spoke. 


86  Tristrem  Varick. 

They  had  been  standing,  but  now  they 
found  seats  near  to  each  other.  Tristrem 
would  not  release  her  hand,  and  she  let  it 
lie  unrebellious  in  his  own.  And  in  this 
fashion  they  sat  and  mapped  the  chartless 
future.  Had  Tristrem  been  allowed  his 
way  the  marriage  would  have  been  an  im- 
mediate one.  But  to  this,  of  course,  Miss 
Raritan  would  not  listen. 

"  Not  before  November,"  she  said,  with 
becoming  decision. 

"  Why,  that  is  five  months  off  !  " 

"  And  months  are  short,  and  then -" 

"  But,  Viola,  think  !  Five  months !  It  is  a 
kalpa  of  time.  And  besides,"  he  added, 
with  the  cogent  egotism  of  an  accepted 
lover,  "  what  shall  I  do  with  myself  in  the 
meantime  ?" 

"  If  you  are  good  you  may  come  to  the 
Pier,  and  there  we  will  talk  edelweiss  and 
myosotis,  as  all  engaged  people  do."  She 
said  this  so  prettily  that  the  sarcasm,  if  sar- 
casm there  were,  was  lost. 

To  this  programme  Tristrem  was  obliged 
to  subscribe. 

"Well,  then,  afterward  we  will  go 
abroad." 


Tristrem  l^arick.  87 

"  Don't  you  like  this  country?"  the  girl 
asked,  all  the  stars  and  stripes  fluttering  in 
her  voice,  and  in  a  tone  which  one  might 
use  in  reciting,  "  Breathes  there  the  man, 
with  soul  so  dead  ?  " 

"  I  think,"  he  answered,  apologetically, 
"  that  I  do  like  this  country.  It  is  a  great 
country.  But  New  York  is  not  a  great  city, 
at  least  not  to  my  thinking.  Collectively 
it  is  great,  I  admit,  but  individually  not, 
and  that  is  to  me  the  precise  difference  be- 
tween it  and  Paris.  Collectively  the  French 
amount  to  little,  individually  it  is  otherwise." 

"But  you  told  me  once  that  Paris  was 
tiresome." 

"  I  was  not  there  with  you.  And  should 
it  become  so  when  we  are  there  together, 
we  have  the  whole  world  to  choose  from. 
In  Germany  we  can  have  the  middle  ages 
over  again.  In  London  we  can  get  the 
flush  of  the  nineteenth  century.  There  is 
all  of  Italy,  from  the  lakes  to  Naples.  We 
can  take  a  doge's  palace  in  Venice,  or  a 
Caesar's  villa  on  the  Baia.  With  a  daha- 
bieh  we  could  float  down  into  the  dawn  of 
history.  You  would  look  well  in  a  daha- 
bieh,  Viola." 


88  Tristrem 

"  As  Aida  ?  " 

"  Better.  And  that  reminds  me,  Viola ; 
tell  me,  you  will  give  up  all  thought  of  the 
stage,  will  you  not  ?  " 

"  How  foolish  you  are.  Fancy  Mrs.  Tris- 
trem Varick  before  the  footlights.  There 
are  careers  open  to  a  girl  that  the  accept- 
ance of  another's  name  must  close.  And 
the  stage  is  one  of  them.  I  should  have 
adopted  it  long  ago,  had  it  not  been  for 
mother.  She  seems  to  think  that  a  Raritan 
— but  there,  you  know  what  mothers  are. 
Now,  of  course,  I  shall  give  it  up.  Besides, 
Italian  opera  is  out  of  fashion.  And  even 
if  it  were  otherwise,  have  I  not  now  a  lord, 
a  master,  whom  I  must  obey  ? " 

Her  eyes  looked  anything  but  obedience, 
yet  her  voice  was  melodious  with  caresses. 

And  so  they  sat  and  talked  and  made 
their  plans,  until  it  was  long  past  the  con- 
ventional hour,  and  Tristrem  felt  that  he 
should  go.  He  had  been  afloat  in  unnavi- 
gated  seas  of  happiness,  but  still  in  his  heart 
he  felt  the  burn  of  a  red,  round  wound. 
The  lie  that  Weldon  had  told  smarted  still, 
yet  with  serener  spirit  he  thought  there 
might  be  some  unexplained  excuse. 


Tristrem  Varick.  89 

"  Tell  me,"  he  asked,  as  he  was  about  to 
leave,  "  what  was  it  Weldon  said  ?  " 

Miss  Raritan  looked  at  him,  and  hesi- 
tated before  she  spoke.  Then  catching  his 
face  in  her  two  hands  she  drew  it  to  her  own. 

"  He  said  you  were  a  goose,"  she  whis- 
pered, and  touched  her  lips  to  his. 

With  this  answer  Tristrem  was  fain  to  be 
content.  And  presently,  when  he  left  the 
house,  he  reeled  as  though  he  had  drunk 
beaker  after  flagon  of  the  headiest  wine. 

VI. 

AFTER  a  ten-mile  pull  on  the  river,  a  shan- 
dygaff of  Bass  and  champagne  is  comforting 
to  the  oarsman.  It  is  accounted  pleasant 
to  pay  a  patient  creditor  an  outlawed  debt. 
But  a  poet  has  held  that  the  most  pleasurable 
thing  imaginable  is  to  awake  on  a  summer 
morning  with  the  consciousness  of  being  in 
love.  Even  in  winter  the  sensation  ought 
not  to  be  disagreeable  ;  yet  when  to  the  con- 
sciousness of  being  in  love  is  added  the  be- 
lief that  the  love  is  returned,  then  the  bleak- 
est day  of  all  the  year  must  seem  like  a  rose 
of  June. 


9P  Tristrem  Varick. 

Tristrem  passed  the  night  in  dreams  that 
told  of  Her.  He  strayed  through  imperish- 
able beauties,  through  dawns  surrounded  by 
candors  of  hope.  The  breath  of  brooks  ca- 
ressed him,  he  was  enveloped  in  the  sorceries 
of  a  sempiternal  spring.  The  winds,  articu- 
late with  song,  choired  to  the  skies  ulula- 
tions  and  messages  of  praise.  Each  vista 
held  a  promise.  The  horizon  was  a  prayer 
fulfilled.  He  saw  grief  collapse  and  joy  en- 
throned. From  bird  and  blossom  he  caught 
the  incommunicable  words  of  love.  And 
when  from  some  new  witchery  he  at  last 
awoke,  he  smiled — the  real  was  fairer  than 
the  dream. 

For  some  time  he  loitered  in  the  gardens 
which  his  fancy  disclosed,  spectacular-wise, 
for  his  own  delight,  until  at  last  he  bethought 
him  of  the  new  duties  of  his  position  and  of 
the  accompanying  necessity  of  making  those 
duties  known  to  those  to  whom  he  was  re- 
lated. Then,  after  a  breakfast  of  sliced  or- 
anges and  coffee,  he  rang  for  the  servant  and 
told  him  to  ask  his  father  whether  he  could 
spare  a  moment  that  morning.  In  a  few 
minutes  the  servant  returned.  "  Mr.  Varick 
will  be  happy  to  see  you,  sir,"  he  said. 


Tristrem  Varick.  91 

"  What  did  he  say  ?  "  Tristrem  asked ; 
"  what  were  his  exact  words  ? " 

"Well,  sir,  I  said  as  how  you  presented 
your  compliments,  and  could  you  see  him, 
and  he  didn't  say  nothing ;  he  was  feeding 
the  burd.     But  I  could  tell,  sir ;  when  Mr. 
Varick  doesn't  like  a  thing,  he  looks  at  you, 
and  if  he  does,  he  doesn't." 
"  And  he  didn't  look  at  you  ? " 
"No,  sir,  he  didn't  turn  his  'ead." 
"H'm,"  said  Tristrem  to  himself,  as  he 
descended  the  stairs,  "  I  wonder,  when  I  tell 
him,  whether  he  will  look  at  me."    And  the 
memory  of  his  father's  stare  cast  a  shadow 
on  his  buoyant  spirits. 

On  entering  the  room  in  which  Mr.  Varick 
passed  his  mornings,  Tristrem  found  that 
gentleman  seated  at  a  table.  In  one  hand 
he  held  a  bronze-colored  magazine,  and  in 
the  other  a  silver  knife.  In  the  window  was 
a  gilt  cage  in  which  a  bird  was  singing,  and 
on  the  table  was  a  profusion  of  roses — the 
room  itself  was  vast  and  chill.  One  wall  was 
lined,  the  entire  length,  with  well-filled  book- 
shelves. In  a  corner  was  a  square  pile  of 
volumes,  bound  in  pale  sheep,  which  a  lawyer 
would  have  recognized  as  belonging  to  the 


92  Tristrem  Varick. 

pleasant  literature  of  his  profession.  And 
over  the  book-shelves  was  a  row  of  Varicks, 
standing  in  the  upright  idleness  which  is 
peculiar  to  portraits  in  oil.  It  was  many 
years  since  Tristrem  had  entered  this  room  ; 
yet  now,  save  for  the  scent  of  flowers  and 
the  bird-cage,  it  was  practically  unchanged. 

"  Father,"  he  began  at  once,  "  I  would  not 
have  ventured  to  disturb  you  if — if — that  is, 
unless  I  had  something  important  to  say." 
He  was  looking  at  his  father,  but  his  father 
was  not  looking  at  him.  "It  is  this,"  he 
continued,  irritated  in  spite  of  himself  by 
the  complete  disinterestedness  of  one  whose 
son  he  was  ;  "  I  am  engaged  to  be  married." 

At  this  announcement  Mr.  Varick  fluttered 
the  paper-knife,  but  said  nothing. 

"The  young  lady  is  Miss  Raritan,"  he 
added,  and  then  paused,  amazed  at  the 
expression  of  his  father's  face.  It  was  as 
though  unseen  hands  were  torturing  it  at 
will.  The  mouth,  cheeks,  and  eyelids  quiv- 
ered and  twitched,  and  then  abruptly  Mr. 
Varick  raised  the  bronze-colored  magazine, 
held  it  before  his  tormented  features,  and 
when  he  lowered  it  again  his  expression 
was  as  apathetic  as  before. 


Tristrem  Varick.  93 

"  You  are  ill !  "  Tristrem  exclaimed,  ad- 
vancing to  him. 

But  Mr.  Varick  shook  his  head,  and  mo- 
tioned him  back.  "  It  .is  nothing,"  he  an- 
swered. "  Let  me  see,  you  were  saying ? " 

"  I  am  engaged  to  Miss  Raritan." 

"The  daughter  of " 

"  Her  father  was  Roanoke  Raritan.  He 
was  minister  somewhere — to  England  or  to 
France,  I  believe." 

While  Tristrem  was  giving  this  informa- 
tion Mr.  Varick  went  to  the  window.  He 
looked  at  the  occupant  of  the  gilt  cage,  and 
ran  a  thumb  through  the  wires.  The  bird 
ruffled  its  feathers,  cocked  its  head,  and 
edged  gingerly  along  the  perch,  reproving 
the  intrusive  finger  with  the  scorn  and  glit- 
ter of  two  eyes  of  bead.  But  the  anger  of 
the  canary  was  brief.  In  a  moment  Mr. Var- 
ick left  the  cage,  and  turned  again  to  his  son. 

"  Nothing  you  could  do,"  he  said,  "  would 
please  me  better." 

"Thank  you,"  Tristrem  answered,  "I " 

"  Are  you  to  be  married  at  once  ? " 

"  Not  before  November,  sir." 

"  I  wish  it  were  sooner.  I  do  not  approve 
of  protracted  engagements.  But,  of  course, 


94  Tristrem  Varick. 

you  know  your  own  business  best.  If  I  re- 
member rightly,  the  father  of  this  young 
lady  did  not  leave  much  of  a  fortune,  did 
he?" 

"  Nothing  to  speak  of,  I  believe." 
"  You  have  my  best  wishes.  The  match 
is  very  suitable,  very  suitable.  I  wish  you 
would  say  as  much,  with  my  compliments, 
to  the  young  lady's  mother.  I  would  do  so 
myself,  but,  as  you  know,  I  am  something  of 
an  invalid.  You  might  add  that,  too — and 
— er — I  don't  mean  to  advise  you,  but  I 
would  endeavor  to  hasten  the  ceremony. 
In  such  matters,  it  is  usual  for  the  young 
lady  to  be  coy,  but  it  is  for  the  man  to  be 
pressing  and  resolute.  I  only  regret  that 
her  father  could  not  know  of  it.  In  regard 
to  money,  your  allowance  will  have  to  be  in- 
creased— well,  I  will  attend  to  that.  There 
is  nothing  else,  is  there  ?  Oh,  do  me  the 
favor  not  to  omit  to  say  that  I  am  much 
pleased.  I  knew  Miss  Raritan's  father." 
Mr.  Varick  looked  up  at  the  ceiling,  and  put 
his  hand  to  his  mouth.  It  was  difficult  to 
say  whether  he  was  concealing  a  smile  or  a 
yawn.  "  He  would  be  pleased,  I  know." 
And  with  that  Mr.  Varick  resumed  his  for- 


Tristrem  Varich.  95 

mer  position,  and  took  up  again  the  maga- 
zine. 

"  It  is  very  good  of  you,"  Tristrem  began  ; 
"  I  didn't  know,  of  course— you  see,  I  knew 
that  if  you  saw  the  young  lady — but  what 
am  I  calling  her  a  young  lady  for?"  he 
asked,  in  an  aside,  of  himself — "  Miss  Rari- 
tan,  I  mean,"  he  continued  aloud,  "you 
would  think  me  fortunate  as  a  king's  cou- 
sin." He  paused.  "I  am  sure,"  he  re- 
flected, "  I  don't  know  what  I  am  talking 
about.  What  I  say  is  sheer  imbecility. 
However,"  he  continued,  again,  "  I  want  to 
thank  you.  You  have  seen  so  little  of  me 
that  I  did  not  expect  you  would  be  partic- 
ularly interested,  I — I " 

He  hesitated  again,  and  then  ceased  speak- 
ing. He  had  been  looking  at  his  father,  and 
something  in  his  father's  stare  fascinated 
and  disturbed  his  train  of  thought.  For  the 
moment  he  was  puzzled.  From  his  child- 
hood he  had  felt  that  his  father  disliked 
him,  though  the  reason  of  that  dislike  he 
had  never  understood.  It  was  one  of  those 
things  that  you  get  so  accustomed  to  that  it 
is  accepted,  like  baldness,  as  a  matter  of 
course,  as  a  thing  which  had  to  be  and  could 


9<5  Tristrem  Varick. 

not  be  otherwise.  To  his  grandfather,  who 
was  at  once  the  most  irascible  and  gentlest 
of  men,  and  whom  he  had  loved  instinc- 
tively, from  the  first,  with  the  unreasoning 
faith  that  children  have — to  him  he  had,  in 
earlier  days,  spoken  more  than  once  of  the 
singularity  of  his  father's  attitude.  The  old 
gentleman,  however,  had  no  explanation  to 
give.  Or,  if  he  had  one,  he  preferred  to  keep 
it  to  himself.  But  he  petted  the  boy  out- 
rageously, with  some  idea  of  making  up  for 
it  all,  and  of  showing  that  he  at  least  had 
love  enough  for  two. 

And  now,  as  Tristrem  gazed  in  his  father's 
face,  he  seemed  to  decipher  something  that 
was  not  dislike — rather  the  contented  look 
of  one  who  learns  of  an  enemy's  disgrace,  a 
compound  of  malice  and  of  glee. 

"That  was  all  I  had  to  say,"  Tristrem 
added,  with  his  winning  smile,  as  though 
apologizing  for  the  lameness  of  the  conclu- 
sion. And  thereupon  he  left  the  room  and 
went  out  to  consult  a  jeweller  and  bear  the 
tidings  to  other  ears. 

For  some  time  he  was  absurdly  happy. 
His  grandfather  received  the  announcement 
of  the  coming  marriage  with  proper  enthu- 


Tristrem  Varick*  97 

siasm.  He  laughed  sagaciously  at  Tristrem's 
glowing  descriptions  of  the  bride  that  was 
to  be,  and  was  for  going  to  call  on  the  mother 
and  daughter  at  once,  and  was  only  pre- 
vented on  learning  that  they  had  both  left 
town. 

"  But  I  must  write,"  he  said,  and  write  he 
did,  two  elaborate  letters,  couched  in  that 
phraseology  at  once  recondite  and  simple 
which  made  our  ancestors  the  delightful 
correspondents  that  they  were.  The  letters 
were  old-fashioned  indeed.  Some  of  the 
sentences  were  enlivened  with  the  eccen- 
tricities of  orthography  which  were  in  vogue 
in  the  days  of  the  Spectator.  The  handwrit- 
ing was  infamous,  and  the  signature  on  each 
was  adorned  with  an  enormous  flourish. 
They  were  not  models  for  a  Perfect  Letter 
Writer,  but  they  were  heartfelt  and  honest, 
and  they  served  their  purpose  very  well. 

"And,  Tristrem,"  the  old  gentleman  said, 
when  the  addresses  had  been  dried  with  a 
shower  of  sand  and  the  letters  despatched, 
"  you  must  take  her  this,  with  my  love.  I 
gave  it  to  your  mother  on  her  wedding  day, 
and  now  it  should  go  to  her."  From  a  little 
red  case  he  took  a  diamond  brooch,  set  in 
7 


p£  Tristrem  Varick. 

silver,  which  he  polished  reflectively  on  his 
sleeve.  "  She  was  very  sweet,  Tristrem,  your 
mother  was — a  good  girl,  and  a  pretty  one. 
Did  I  ever  tell  you  about  the  time " 

And  the  old  gentleman  ran  on  with  some 
anecdote  of  the  dear  dead  days  in  which  his 
heart  was  tombed.  Tristrem  listened  with 
the  interest  of  those  that  love.  He  had 
heard  the  story,  and  many  others  of  a  simi- 
lar tenor,  again  and  again,  but,  somehow,  he 
never  heard  them  too  often.  There  was 
nothing  wearisome  to  him  in  such  chroni- 
cles ;  and  as  he  sat  listening,  and  now  and 
then  prompting  with  some  forgotten  detail, 
anyone  who  had  happened  on  the  scene 
would  have  accounted  it  pleasant  to  watch 
the  young  fellow  and  the  old  man  talking 
together  over  the  youth  of  her  who  had 
been  mother  to  one  and  daughter  to  the 
other. 

"  See !  "  said  Tristrem  at  last,  when  his 
grandfather  had  given  the  brooch  into  his 
keeping.  "  See  !  I  have  something  for  her 
too."  And  with  that  he  displayed  a  ruby, 
unset,  that  was  like  a  clot  of  blood.  "  I  shall 
have  it  put  in  a  ring,"  he  explained,  "  but 
this  might  do  for  a  bonnet-pin  ;"  and  then 


Tristrem  Varick.  99 

he  produced  a  green  stone,  white-filmed, 
that  had  a  heart  of  oscillating  flame. 

Mr.  Van  Norden  had  taken  the  ruby  inj 
his  hand  and  held  it  off  at  arm's  length,  and 
then  between  two  fingers,  to  the  light,  that 
he  might  the  better  judge  of  its  beauty.  But 
at  the  mention  of  the  bonnet-pin  he  turned 
to  look  : 

"  Surely,  Tristrem,  you  would  not  give 
her  that ;  it's  an  opal." 

"  And  what  if  it  is  ?  " 

"  But  it  is  not  lucky." 

Tristrem  smiled  blithely,  with  the  bravery 
that  comes  of  nineteenth-century  culture. 

"  It's  a  pearl  with  a  soul,"  he  answered, 
"  that's  what  it  is.  And  if  Viola  doesn't 
like  it  I'll  send  it  to  you." 

"  God  forbid,"  Mr.  Van  Norden  replied  ; 
"  if  anyone  sent  me  an  opal  I  would  swear 
so  hard  that  if  the  devil  heard  me  he'd  go  in 
a  corner  and  cross  himself." 

At  this  threat  Tristrem  burst  out  laugh- 
ing, and  the  old  gentleman,  amused  in  spite 
of  himself  at  the  fantasy  of  his  own  speech, 
burst  out  laughing  too. 

Then  there  was  more  chat,  and  more  rem- 
iniscences, and  much  planning  as  to  how 


too  Tristrem  Varick. 

Tristrem  should  best  assume  the  rank  and 
appanages  of  the  married  state.  Tristrem 
dined  with  his  grandfather  that  evening,  and 
when  Mr.  Van  Norden  started  out  to  his  club 
for  a  game  of  whist,  Tristrem  accompanied 
him  as  far  as  the  club  door. 

When  they  parted,  Tristrem  was  in  such 
spirits  that  he  could  have  run  up  to  Central 
Park  and  back  again.  "  Divinities  of  Pin- 
dar," he  kept  exclaiming — a  phrase  that  he 
had  caught  somewhere — "  divinities  of  Pin- 
dar, she  is  mine." 

Thereafter,  for  several  days,  he  lived,  as  all 
true  lovers  do,  on  air  and  the  best  tender- 
loins he  could  obtain. 


VII. 

ONE  morning  Tristrem  found  the  sliced 
oranges  companied  by  a  note  from  Her.  It 
was  not  long,  but  he  read  it  so  often  that  it 
became  lengthy  in  spite  of  the  writer.  The 
cottage,  it  informed  him,  which  had  been 
taken  for  the  summer,  was  becoming  habi- 
table. As  yet  but  one  of  the  hotels,  and 
that  the  worst,  was  prepared  for  guests. 
In  a  fortnight,  however,  the  others  would 


Tristrem  l^arick.  101 

begin  to  open  their  doors,  and  meanwhile 
if,  in  the  course  of  the  week,  he  cared  to 
run  up,  there  was  a  room  in  the  cottage  at 
his  disposal. 

"  In  the  course  of  the  week,"  soliloquizedj 
Tristrem  ;  "  h'm — well,  this  afternoon  is  in 
the  course  of  it,  and  this  afternoon  will  I 

g°-" 

Pleasured  by  the  artfulness  of  his  own 

sophistry,  he  procured  a  provision  of  Ian- 
gues  dorees,  a  comestible  of  which  she  was 
fond,  found  at  Tiffany's  the  ruby  and  opal 
set  in  accordance  with  orders  already 
given,  and  at  two  o'clock  boarded  the  New- 
port express. 

The  train  reached  New  London  before 
Tristrem  had  so  much  as  glanced  at  a  vol- 
ume which  he  held  in  his  hand.  He  had 
little  need  of  anything  to  occupy  his 
thoughts.  His  mind  was  a  scenario  in 
which  he  followed  the  changes  and  con- 
volutions of  an  entertainment  more  allur- 
ing than  any  that  romancer  or  playwright 
could  convey.  He  was  in  that  mood  which 
we  all  of  us  have  experienced,  in  which 
life  seems  not  only  worth  living,  but  a  foun- 
tain of  delight  as  well.  Were  ever  fields 


IO2  Tristrem  Varick. 

more  green  or  sky  more  fair  ?  And  such  a 
promise  as  the  future  held  !  In  his  hearing 
was  a  choir  of  thrushes,  and  on  his  spirit 
had  been  thrown  a  mantle  so  subtle,  yet  of 
texture  so  insistent,  that  no  thought  not 
wholly  pure  could  pierce  the  woof  or  find  a 
vantage-ground  therein.  He  was  in  that 
mood  in  which  one  feels  an  ascension  of 
virtues,  the  companionship  of  unviolated 
illusions,  the  pomp  and  purple  of  worship, 
a  communion  with  all  that  is  best,  a  repul- 
sion of  all  that  is  base — that  mood  in  which 
hymns  mount  unsummoned  from  the  heart. 
He  was  far  away,  but  the  Ideal  was  at  his 
side.  The  past  was  a  mirror,  mirroring 
nothing  save  his  own  preparation  and  the 
dream  of  the  coming  of  her.  And  now  she 
had  come,  fairer  than  the  fairest  vision  and 
desire  that  ever  visited  a  poet  starving  in  a 
garret.  To  be  worthy  of  her,  even  in  the 
slightest  measure,  what  was  there  that  he 
would  leave  undone  ?  And  as  the  train 
brought  him  to  his  journey's  end,  he  re- 
peated to  himself,  gravely  and  decorously, 
and  with  the  earnestness  and  sincerity  of 
the  untried,  the  grave  covenants  of  the  mar- 
riage pact. 


Tristrem  Varich.  \o$ 

On  descending  at  the  station  he  remem- 
bered, for  the  first  time,  that  he  had  omit- 
ted to  send  Miss  Raritan  an  avant-courier 
in  the  shape  of  a  telegram.  It  is  one  of 
the  oddities  of  hazard  that,  in  turning  down 
one  street  instead  of  turning  up  another,  a 
man's  existence,  and  not  his  own  alone,  but 
that  of  others  also,  may  seem  to  be  whol- 
ly changed  thereby.  The  term  seem  is  used 
advisedly,  for,  with  a  better  understanding 
of  the  interconnection  of  cause  and  effect, 
chance  has  been  outlawed  by  science,  and 
in  the  operations  of  consistent  laws  the  ax- 
iom, "Whatever  will  be,  Is,"  has  passed 
to  the  kindergarten.  Tristrem  thought  of 
this  months  afterward.  He  remembered 
then,  that  that  morning  he  had  started  out 
with  the  intention  of  sending  a  telegram 
from  the  club,  but  on  the  way  there  he  had 
thought  of  the  chocolate  which  Viola  pre- 
ferred, and,  after  turning  into  Broadway  to 
purchase  it,  he  had  drifted  into  Tiffany's, 
and  from  there  he  had  returned  to  Waverley 
Place,  the  message  unsent  and  forgotten. 
He  recalled  these  incidents  months  later, 
but  for  the  moment  he  merely  felt  a  vague 
annoyance  at  his  own  neglect. 


1O4  Tristrem  Varick. 

There  was  a  negro  at  the  station,  the 
driver  of  a  coach  in  whose  care  Tristrem 
placed  himself,  and  presently  the  coach 
rattled  over  a  road  that  skirted  the  sea,  and 
drew  up  at  the  gate  of  a  tiny  villa.  On  the 
porch  Mrs.  Raritan  was  seated,  and  when 
she  recognized  her  visitor  she  came  down 
the  path,  exclaiming  her  pleasure  and  wel- 
come. It  was  evident  at  once  that  she  had 
been  gratified  by  her  daughter's  choice. 

"  But  we  didn't  expect  you,"  she  said. 
"  Viola  told  me  you  would  not  come  before 
Saturday.  I  am  glad  you  did,  though ;  as 
yet  there's  hardly  a  soul  in  the  place.  Viola 
has  gone  riding.  It's  after  seven,  isn't  it  ? 
She  ought  to  be  back  now.  Why  didn't  you 
send  us  word  ?  We  would  have  met  you  at 
the  train." 

They  had  found  seats  on  the  porch.  Tris- 
trem explained  his  haste,  apologizing  for 
the  neglect  to  wire.  The  haste  seemed  par- 
donable to  Mrs.  Raritan,  and  the  attendant 
absent-mindedness  easily  understood.  And 
so  for  some  moments  they  talked  together. 
Tristrem  delivered  his  father's  message, 
and  learned  that  Mr.  Van  Norden's  letters 
had  been  received.  Some  word  was  even 


Tristrem  Varick.  105 

said  of  the  possibility  of  a  September  wed- 
ding. And  then  a  little  plot  was  concocted. 
Dinner  would  be  served  almost  immedi- 
ately, so  soon,  in  fact,  as  Viola  returned. 
Meanwhile,  Tristrem  would  go  to  his  room, 
Mrs.  Raritan  would  say  nothing  of  his  ar- 
rival, but,  when  dinner  was  announced,  a 
servant  would  come  to  his  door,  and  then 
he  was  to  appear  and  give  Viola  the  treat 
and  pleasure  of  a  genuine  surprise. 

This  plan  was  acted  on  at  once.  Tris- 
trem was  shown  to  the  room  which  he  was 
to  occupy,  and  proceeded  to  get  his  things 
in  order.  From  his  shirt-box,  which,  with 
his  valise,  had  already  been  brought  up- 
stairs, he  took  the  ring,  the  brooch,  the  pin, 
and  placed  them  on  the  mantel.  Then  he 
found  other  garments,  and  began  to  dress. 
In  five  minutes  he  was  in  readiness,  but  as 
yet  he  heard  nothing  indicative  of  Viola's 
return.  He  went  to  the  window  and  looked 
out.  Above  the  trees,  in  an  adjacent  prop- 
erty, there  loomed  a  tower.  The  window 
was  at  the  back  of  the  house  ;  he  could 
not  see  the  ocean,  but  he  heard  its  resil- 
ient sibilants,  and  from  the  garden  came 
the  hum  of  insects.  It  had  grown  quite 


106  Tristrem  Varick. 

dark,  but  still  there  was  no  sign  of  Viola's 
return. 

He  took  up  the  volume  which  he  had 
brought  with  him  in  the  cars.  It  was  the 
Rime  Nuove  of  Carducci,  and  with  the  fan- 
cies of  that  concettist  of  modern  Rome  he 
stayed  his  impatience  for  a  while.  There 
was  one  octave  that  had  appealed  to  him 
before.  He  read  it  twice,  and  was  about  to 
endeavor  to  repeat  the  lines  from  memory, 
when  through  the  open  window  he  heard 
the  clatter  of  horses'  hoofs,  the  roll  of 
wheels  ;  it  was  evident  that  some  convey- 
ance had  stopped  at  the  gate  of  the  villa. 
Then  came  the  sound  of  hurrying  feet,  a 
murmur  of  voices,  and  abruptly  the  night 
was  cut  with  the  anguish  of  a  woman's  cry. 

Tristrem  rushed  from  the  room  and  down 
the  stairs.  Through  the  open  door  beyond 
a  trembling  star  was  visible,  and  in  the  road 
a  group  of  undistinguished  forms. 

"She's  only  fainted,"  someone  was  say- 
ing ;  "she  was  right  enough  a  minute  ago." 

Before  the  sentence  was  completed,  Tris- 
trem was  at  the  gate.  Hatless,  with  one 
hand  ungloved  and  the  other  clutching  a 
broken  whip,  the  habit  rent  from  hem  to 


Tristrem  yarick.  107 

girdle,  dust-covered  and  dishevelled,  the 
eyes  closed,  and  in  the  face  the  pallor  and 
contraction  of  mortal  pain,  Viola  Raritan 
lay,  waist-supported,  in  her  mother's  arms. 

"  Help  me  with  her  to  the  house,"  the 
mother  moaned.  Then  noticing  Tristrem 
at  her  side,  "  She's  been  thrown,"  she  added  ; 
"  I  knew  she  would  be — I  knew  it " 

And  as  Tristrem  reached  to  aid  her  with 
the  burden,  the  girl's  eyes  opened,  "  It's 
nothing."  She  raised  her  ungloved  hand, 
"  I — "  and  swooned  again. 

They  bore  her  into  a  little  sitting-room, 
and  laid  her  down.  Mrs.  Raritan  followed, 
distraught  with  fright.  In  her  helplessness, 
words  came  from  her  unsequenced  and  ob- 
scure. But  soon  she  seemed  to  feel  the 
need  of  action.  One  servant  she  despatched 
for  a  physician,  from  another  a  restorative 
was  obtained.  And  Tristrem,  meanwhile, 
knelt  at  the  girl's  side,  beating  her  hand 
with  his.  It  had  been  scratched,  he  noticed, 
as  by  a  briar,  and  under  the  nails  were  stains 
such  as  might  come  from  plucking  berries 
that  are  red. 

As  he  tried  to  take  from  her  the  whip,  that 
he  might  rub  the  hand  that  held  it  too, 


io8  Tristrem  Varich. 

the  girl  recovered  consciousness  again.  The 
swoon  had  lasted  but  a  moment  or  so,  yet  to 
him  who  watched  it  had  been  unmeasured 
time.  She  drew  away  the  hand  he  held,  and 
raising  herself  she  looked  at  him  ;  to  her 
lips  there  came  a  tremulousness  and  her 
eyes  filled. 

"  My  darling,"  Mrs.  Raritan  sobbed,  "are 
you  hurt  ?  Tell  me.  How  did  it  happen  ? 
Did  the  horse  run  away  with  you.  Oh, 
Viola,  I  knew  there  would  be  an  accident. 
Where  are  you  hurt  ?  Did  the  horse  drag 
you  ?  " 

The  girl  turned  to  her  mother  almost 
wonderingly.  It  seemed  to  Tristrem  that 
she  was  not  yet  wholly  herself. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered  ;  "  no,  I  mean — no, 
he  didn't,  it  was  an  accident,  he  shied.  Do 
get  me  upstairs."  And  with  that  her  head 
fell  again  on  the  cushion. 

Tristrem  sought  to  raise  her,  but  she  mo- 
tioned him  back  and  caught  her  mother's 
hand,  and  rising  with  its  assistance  she  let 
the  arm  circle  her  waist,  and  thus  supported 
she  suffered  herself  to  be  led  away. 

Tristrem  followed  them  to  the  hall.  On 
the  porch  a  man  loitered,  hat  in  hand ;  as 


Tristrem  Varick.  109 

Tristrem  approached  he  rubbed  the  brim 
reflectively. 

"  I  saw  the  horse  as  good  as  an  hour  ago," 
he  said,  "  I  was  going  to  Caswell's."  And 
with  this  information  he  crooked  his  arm 
and  made  a  backward  gesture.  "  It's  down 
yonder  on  the  way  to  the  Point,"  he  ex- 
plained. "As  I  passed  Hazard's  I  looked 
in  the  cross-road — I  call  it  a  road,  but  after 
you  get  on  a  bit  it's  nothing  more  than  a 
cow-path,  all  bushes  and  suchlike.  But 
just  up  the  road  I  see'd  the  horse.  He  was 
nibbling  grass  as  quiet  as  you  please.  I 
didn't  pay  no  attention,  I  thought  he  was 
tied.  Well,  when  I  was  coming  back  I 
looked  again  ;  he  wasn't  there,  but  just  as  I 
got  to  the  turn  I  heard  somebody  holloaing, 
and  I  stopped.  A  man  ran  up  and  says  to 
me,  '  There's  a  lady  hurt  herself,  can't  you 
give  her  a  lift  ? '  '  Where  ? '  says  I.  *  Down 
there,'  he  says,  'back  of  Hazard's  ;  she's 
been  thrown.'  So  I  turned  round,  and  sure 
enough  there  she  was,  by  the  fence,  sort  of 
dazed  like.  I  says,  '  Are  you  hurt,  miss  ? ' 
and  she  says,  '  No,'  but  could  I  bring  her 
here,  and  then  I  see'd  that  her  dress  was 
torn.  She  got  in,  and  I  asked  her  where 


no  Tristrem  Varick. 

her  hat  was,  and  she  said  it  was  back  there, 
but  it  didn't  make  no  difference,  she  wanted 
to  get  home.  And  when  we  were  driving 
on  here  I  told  her  as  how  I  see'd  the  horse, 
and  I  asked  if  it  wasn't  one  of  White's,  and 
she  said,  *  Yes,  it  was,'  and  I  was  a-going  to 
ask  where  she  was  thrown,  but  she  seemed 
sort  of  faint,  and,  sure  enough,  just  as  we  got 
here  away  she  went.  I  always  says  women- 
folk ought  not  to  be  let  on  horse-back,  she 
might  have  broke  her  neck  ;  like  as  not " 

"  You  have  been  very  kind,"  Tristrem  an- 
swered, "very  kind,  indeed." 

During  the  entire  scene  he  had  not  said 
a  word.  The  spectacle  of  Viola  fainting  on 
the  roadside,  the  fear  that  she  might  be 
maimed,  the  trouble  at  her  pallor — these 
things  had  tied  his  tongue  ;  and  even  now, 
as  he  spoke,  his  voice  was  not  assured,  and 
a  hand  with  which  he  fumbled  in  his  waist- 
coat trembled  so  that  the  roll  of  bills  which 
he  drew  out  fell  on  the  porch  at  his  feet. 
He  stooped  and  picked  it  up. 

"  If  Mrs.  Raritan  were  here,  she  would 
thank  you  as  I  do,"  he  continued.  "  I  wish 
— "  and  he  was  about  to  make  some  pres- 
ent, but  the  man  drew  back. 


Tristrem  Varick.     -  /// 

"  That's  all  right,  I  don't  want  no  pay  for 
that." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  Tristrem  answered, 
"  I  know  you  do  not.  Tell  me,  are  you  mar- 
ried?" 

The  man  laughed. 

"  Yes,  I  am,  and  I  got  the  biggest  boy 
you  ever  see.  He's  going  on  four  years 
and  he  weighs  a  ton." 

"  I  wish  you  would  do  me  a  favor.  Let 
me  make  him  a  little  present." 

But  even  to  this  the  man  would  not  lis- 
ten. He  was  reluctant  to  accept  so  much 
as  thanks.  Having  done  what  good  he 
could,  he  was  anxious  to  go  his  way — the 
sort  of  man  that  one  has  to  visit  the  sea- 
shore to  find,  and  who,  when  found,  is  as  re- 
freshing as  the  breeze. 

As  he  left  the  porch,  he  looked  back. 
"  Here's  the  doctor,"  he  said,  and  passed  on 
into  the  night. 

While  the  physician  visited  the  patient, 
Tristrem  paced  the  sitting-room  counting 
the  minutes  till  he  could  have  speech  with 
him,  himself.  And  when  at  last  he  heard 
the  stairs  creak,  he  was  out  in  the  hall,  pre- 
pared to  question  and  intercept.  The  phy- 


112  Tristrem  Vanck. 

sician  was  most  reassuring.  There  was 
nothing  at  all  the  matter.  By  morning 
Miss  Raritan  would  be  up  and  about.  She 
had  had  a  shock,  no  doubt.  She  was  upset, 
and  a  trifle  nervous,  but  all  she  needed  was 
a  good  night's  rest,  with  a  chop  and  a  glass 
of  claret  to  help  her  to  it.  If  sleep  were 
elusive,  then  a  bromide.  But  that  was  all. 
If  she  had  been  seventy  a  tumble  like  that 
might  have  done  for  her,  but  at  nineteen  ! 
And  the  doctor  left  the  house,  reflecting  that 
were  not  educated  people  the  most  timor- 
ous of  all,  the  emoluments  of  his  profes- 
sion would  be  slight. 

Whether  or  not  Miss  Raritan  found  the 
chop  and  claret  sufficient,  or  whether  she 
partook  of  a  bromide  as  well,  is  not  a  part 
of  history.  In  a  little  while  after  the  phy- 
sician's departure  a  servant  brought  word 
to  Tristrem  that  for  the  moment  Mrs.  Rari- 
tan was  unable  to  leave  her  daughter,  but 
if  he  would  have  his  dinner  then,  Mrs.  Rari- 
tan would  see  him  later.  Such  was  the  re- 
vulsion of  feeling  that  Tristrem,  to  whom, 
ten  minutes  before,  the  mere  mention  of 
food  would  have  been  distasteful,  sat  down, 
and  ate  like  a  wolf.  The  meal  finished,  he 


Tristrem  Varick. 

went  out  on  the  porch.  There  was  no  moon 
as  yet,  but  the  sky  was  brilliant  with  the 
lights  of  other  worlds.  Before  him  was  the 
infinite,  in  the  air  was  the  scent  of  sea-weed, 
and  beyond,  the  waves  leaped  up  and  fawned 
upon  the  bluffs.  And  as  he  stood  and 
watched  it  all,  the  servant  came  to  him  with 
Mrs.  Raritan's  apologies.  She  thought  it 
better,  the  maid  explained,  not  to  leave 
Miss  Raritan  just  yet,  and  would  Mr. 
Varick  be  good  enough  to  excuse  her  for 
that  evening  ? 

"  Wait  a  second,"  he  answered,  and  went 
to  his  room.  He  found  the  jewels,  and 
brought  them  down-stairs.  "  Take  these  to 
Miss  Raritan,"  he  said,  and  on  a  card  he 
wrote  some  word  of  love,  which  he  gave 
with  the  trinkets  to  the  maid.  "  La parlate 
(famor"  he  murmured,  as  the  servant  left 
to  do  his  bidding,  and  then  he  went  again 
to  his  room,  and  sat  down  at  the  window 
companioned  only  by  the  stars.  From 
beyond,  the  boom  and  retreating  wash 
of  waves  was  still  audible,  and  below  in 
the  garden  he  caught,  now  and  then,  the 
spark  and  glitter  of  a  firefly  gyrating  in 
loops  of  gold,  but  the  tower  which  he 
8 


ii4  Tristrem  Varich. 

had  noticed  on  arriving  was  lost  in  the 
night. 

It  was  in  that  direction,  he  told  himself, 
that  the  accident  must  have  occurred.  And 
what  was  it,  after  all  ?  As  yet  he  had  not 
fully  understood.  Had  the  horse  stumbled, 
or  had  he  bolted  and  thrown  her  ?  If  he 
had  only  been  there  !  And  as  his  fancy 
evoked  the  possibilities  of  that  ride,  he  saw 
a  terrified  brute  tearing  along  a  deserted 
road,  carrying  the  exquisite  girl  straight  to 
some  sudden  death,  and,  just  when  the  end 
was  imminent,  his  own  muscles  hardened 
into  steel,  he  had  him  by  the  bit  and, 
though  dragged  by  the  impetus,  at  last  he 
held  him,  and  she  was  safe.  She  was  in  his 
arms,  her  own  about  his  neck,  and  were  he 
a  knight-errant  and  she  some  gracious  prin- 
cess, what  sweeter  guerdon  could  he  claim  ? 

But  one  thing  preoccupied  him.  In  the 
vertiginous  flight  she  had  lost  something — 
her  whip,  no,  her  hat — and  it  was  incumbent 
on  him  to  restore  it  to  her.  Very  softly, 
then,  that  he  might  not  disturb  her,  he 
opened  the  door.  The  house  was  hushed, 
and  in  a  moment  he  was  on  the  road.  He 
could  see  the  tower  now  ;  it  was  illumin- 


Tristrem  Varick.  7/5 

ated,  and  it  seemed  to  him  odd  that  he  had 
not  noticed  the  illumination  before.  It  was 
that  way,  he  knew,  back  of  Hazard's,  and  he 
hurried  along  in  the  direction  which  the 
man  had  indicated.  The  insects  had  stilled 
their  murmur,  and  the  sky  was  more  ob- 
scure, but  the  road  was  clear. 

He  hurried  on,  and  as  he  hurried  he 
heard  steps  behind  him,  hurrying  too.  He 
turned  his  head  ;  behind  him  was  a  woman 
running,  and  who,  as  she  ran,  cast  a  shadow 
that  was  monstrous.  In  the  glimpse  that 
he  caught  of  her  he  saw  that  she  was  bare 
of  foot  and  that  her  breast  was  uncovered. 
Her  skirt  was  tattered  and  her  hair  was 
loose.  He  turned  again,  the  face  was  hide- 
ous. The  eyes  squinted,  lustreless  and 
opaque,  the  nose  was  squat,  the  chin  re- 
treated, the  forehead  was  seamed  with  scars, 
and  the  mouth,  that  stretched  to  the  ears, 
was  extended  with  laughter.  As  she  ran  she 
took  her  teeth  out  one  by  one,  replacing 
them  with  either  hand.  And  still  she 
laughed,  a  silent  laughter,  her  thin  lips  dis- 
torted as  though  she  mocked  the  world. 

Tristrem,  overcome  by  the  horror  of  that 
laughter,  felt  as  agonized  as  a  child  pur- 


116  Tristrem  Varick. 

sued.  There  was  a  fence  at  hand,  a  vacant 
lot,  and  across  it  a  light  glimmered.  Away 
he  sped.  In  the  field  his  foot  caught  in  a 
bramble  ;  he  fell,  and  could  not  rise,  but  he 
heard  her  coming  and,  with  a  great  effort 
just  as  she  was  on  him,  he  was  up  again, 
distancing  her  with  ever-increasing  space. 
The  light  was  just  beyond.  He  saw  now  it 
came  from  the  tower ;  there  was  another 
fence,  he  was  over  it ;  the  door  was  barred  ; 
no,  it  opened  ;  he  was  safe  ! 

In  the  middle  of  the  room,  circular  as  be- 
fits a  tower,  was  a  cradle,  and  in  the  cradle 
was  a  little  boy.  As  Tristrem  looked  at  him 
he  smiled  ;  it  was,  he  knew,  the  child  of  the 
man  to  whom  he  had  spoken  that  evening. 
One  hand  was  under  the  pillow,  but  the 
other,  that  lay  on  the  coverlid,  held  Viola's 
hat.  He  bent  over  to  examine  it  ;  the  fin- 
gers that  held  it  were  grimy  and  large,  and, 
as  he  looked  closer,  he  saw  that  it  was  not  a 
child,  but  the  man  himself.  Before  he  had 
an  opportunity  to  account  for  the  delusion 
he  heard  the  gallop  of  feet  and  a  thunder 
at  the  door.  It  was  she  !  He  wheeled  like 
a  rat  surprised.  There  was  a  lateral  exit, 
through  which  he  fled,  and  presently  he 


Tristrem  Varick.  uj 

found  himself  in  a  corridor  that  seemed 
endless  in  extension.  The  man  evidently 
had  left  the  cradle  and  preceded  him,  for 
Tristrem  saw  him  putting  on  a  great-coat 
some  distance  ahead.  In  his  feverish  fright 
he  thought,  could  he  but  disguise  himself 
with  that,  he  might  pass  out  unobserved, 
and  he  ran  on  to  supplicate  for  an  exchange 
of  costume  ;  but  when  he  reached  the  place 
where  the  man  had  stood  he  had  gone,  van- 
ished through  a  dead  wall,  and  down  the 
corridor  he  heard  her  come.  He  could  hear 
her  bare  feet  patter  on  the  stones.  Oh, 
God,  what  did  she  wish  of  him  ?  And  no 
escape,  not  one.  He  was  in  her  power,  im- 
mured with  her  forevermore.  He  called 
for  help,  and  beat  at  the  walls,  and  ever 
nearer  she  came,  swifter  than  disease,  and 
more  appalling  than  death.  His  nails  sank 
in  his  flesh,  he  raised  a  hand  to  stay  the 
beating  of  his  heart,  and  then  at  once  she 
was  upon  him,  felling  him  to  the  ground  as 
a  ruffian  fells  his  mistress,  her  knees  were  on 
his  arms,  he  was  powerless,  dumb  with  dread, 
and  in  his  face  was  the  fetor  of  her  breath. 
Her  eyes  were  no  longer  lustreless,  they  glit- 
tered like  twin  stars,  and  still  she  laughed, 


n8  Tristrem  Varick. 

her  naked  breast  heaving  with  the  convul- 
sions of  her  mirth.  "  I  am  Truth,"  she  bawled, 
and  laughed  again.  And  with  that  Tristrem 
awoke,  suffocating,  quivering,  and  outwear- 
ied  as  though  he  had  run  a  race  and  lost  it. 

He  sat  awhile,  broken  by  the  horror  of 
the  dream.  The  palms  of  his  hands  were 
not  yet  dry.  But  soon  he  bestirred  himself, 
and  went  to  the  door  ;  the  lights  had  been 
extinguished ;  he  closed  it  again,  and,  with 
the  aid  of  some  candles,  he  prepared  for  bed. 
He  would  have  read  a  little,  but  he  was  fa- 
tigued, tired  by  the  emotions  of  the  day, 
and  when  at  last  he  lay  down  it  was  an  ef- 
fort to  rise  again  and  put  out  the  candle. 
How  long  he  lay  in  darkness,  a  second,  an 
hour,  he  could  not  afterward  recall ;  it 
seemed  to  him  that  he  had  drowsed  off  at 
once,  but  suddenly  he  started,  trembling 
from  head  to  foot.  He  had  heard  Viola's 
voice  soaring  to  its  uttermost  tension. 
"Coward,"  she  had  called.  And  then  all  was 
still.  He  listened,  he  even  went  to  the  door, 
but  the  house  was  wrapped  in  silence. 

"Bah  ! "  he  muttered,  "  I  am  entertaining 
a  procession  of  nightmares."  And  in  a  few 
moments  he  was  again  asleep. 


Tristrem  Varick.  //p 


VIII. 

AT  dawn  he  awoke  refreshed.  The  sun 
rose  from  the  ocean  like  an  indolent  girl 
from  a  bath.  Before  the  house  was  astir 
he  was  out  of  doors  exploring  the  land.  He 
strolled  past  the  row  of  hotels  that  front  the 
sea,  and  pausing  a  moment  at  the  Casino, 
fragrant  then,  and  free  of  the  stench  of 
drink  that  is  the  outcome  of  the  later  sea- 
son, he  wondered  how  it  was  that,  given 
money,  and  possibly  brains,  it  was  neces- 
sary to  make  a  building  as  awkward  as  was 
that.  And  then  he  strayed  to  the  shore, 
past  the  tenantless  bath-houses,  and  on 
through  the  glories  of  the  morning  to  the 
untrodden  beach  beyond. 

As  he  walked,  the  village  faded  in  the 
haze.  The  tide  was  low  and  the  sand  firm 
and  hard.  The  waves  broke  leisurely  in 
films  and  fringes  of  white,  gurgling  an  in- 
vitation to  their  roomy  embrace.  And  when 
the  hotels  were  lost  in  the  distance  and  the 
solitude  was  murmurous  with  nature  alone, 
Tristrem,  captivated  by  the  allurements  of 
the  sea,  went  down  into  the  waves  and 


/2o  Tristrem  Varick. 

clasped  them  to  him  as  lovers  clasp  those 
they  love. 

The  sun  was  well  on  its  amble  to  the 
zenith  before  he  returned  to  the  cottage. 
His  hostess,  he  found,  had  not  yet  appeared, 
and  as  breakfast  seemed  to  be  served  in  that 
pleasant  fashion  which  necessitates  noth- 
ing, not  even  an  appetite,  Tristrem  drank 
his  coffee  in  solitude.  And  as  he  idled  over 
the  meal  he  recalled  the  horrors  of  the 
night,  and  smiled.  The  air  of  the  morning, 
the  long  and  quiet  stroll,  the  plunge  in  the 
sea,  and  the  after-bath  of  sunlight  that  he 
had  taken  stretched  full  length  on  the  sand, 
had  dissipated  the  enervating  emotions  of 
dream  and  brought  him  in  their  stead  a  new 
invigoration.  He  was  about  to  begin  the 
dithyrambs  of  the  day  before,  when  the  ser- 
vant appeared,  bearing  a  yellow  envelope, 
and  a  book  in  which  he  was  to  put  his 
name.  He  gave  the  receipt  and  opened  the 
message,  wonderingly. 

"Please  come  to  town"  it  ran,  "  your  father 
is  dying. — Robert  Harris" 

"Your  father  is  dying,"  he  repeated. 
"  H'm.  Robert  Harris.  I  never  knew  be- 
fore what  the  butler's  first  name  was.  But 


Tristrem  Varich.  121 

what  has  that  to  do  with  it  ?  There  are 
times  when  I  am  utterly  imbecile.  Your 
father  is  dying.  Yes,  of  course,  I  must  go 
at  once.  But  it  isn't  possible.  H'm.  I  re- 
member. He  looked  ghastly  when  I  saw 
him.  I  suppose — I  ought  to — good  God, 
why  should  I  attempt  to  feign  a  sorrow  that 
I  do  not  feel  ?  It  is  his  own  fault.  I  would 
have —  But  there,  what  is  the  use  ? " 

He  bit  his  nail  ;  he  was  perplexed  at  his 
absence  of  sensibility.  "And  yet,"  he 
mused,  "  in  his  way  he  has  been  kind  to 
me.  He  has  been  kind  ;  that  is,  if  it  be  kind- 
ness in  a  father  to  let  a  son  absolutely  alone. 
After  all,  filial  affection  must  be  like  patriot- 
ism, ingrained  as  an  obligation,  a  thing  to 
blush  at  if  not  possessed.  Yet  then,  again, 
if  a  country  acts  like  a  step-mother  to  its 
children,  if  a  father  treats  a  son  as  a  guar- 
dian might  treat  a  ward,  the  ties  are  conven- 
tional ;  and  on  what  shall  affection  subsist  ? 
It  was  he  who  called  me  into  being,  and, 
having  done  so,  he  assumed  duties  which  he 
should  not  have  shirked.  It  was  not  for 
him  to  make  himself  a  stranger  to  me  ;  it 
was  for  him  to  teach  me  to  honor  him  so 
much,  to  love  him  so  well  that  at  his  death 


122  Tristrem  Varich. 

my  head  would  be  bowed  in  prostrations  of 
grief.  I  used  to  try  to  school  myself  to 
think  that  it  was  only  his  way  ;  that,  out- 
wardly cold  and  undemonstrative,  his  heart 
was  warm  as  another's.  But — well,  it  may 
have  been,  it  may  have  been.  After  all,  if 
I  can't  grieve,  I  would  cross  the  continent 
to  spare  him  a  moment's  pain.  It  was  he,  I 
suppose,  who  told  Harris  to  wire.  Yes,  I 
must  hurry." 

He  called  the  servant  to  him.  "  Can  you 
tell  me,  please,  when  the  next  train  goes  ?" 
But  the  servant  had  no  knowledge  whereon 
to  base  a  reply.  She  suggested,  however, 
that  information  might  be  obtained  at  an 
inn  which  stood  a  short  distance  up  the 
road.  He  scribbled  a  few  lines  on  a  card, 
and  gave  it  to  the  woman.  "  Take  that  to 
Miss  Raritan,  please,  will  you? "he  said, 
and  left  the  house. 

At  the  inn  a  very  large  individual  sat  on 
the  stoop,  coatless,  a  straw  covering  of  a  re- 
moter summer  far  back  on  his  head,  and  his 
feet  turned  in.  He  listened  to  Tristrem  with 
surly  indifference,  and  spat  profusely.  He 
didn't  know  ;  he  reckoned  the  morning 
train  had  gone. 


Tristrem  Varick.  123 

"  Hay,  Alf,"  he  called  out  to  the  negro 
who  had  taken  Tristrem  from  the  station 
the  night  before,  and  who  was  then  driving 
by,  "  when's  the  next  train  go  ?  " 

"  'Bout  ten  minutes  ;  I  just  took  a  party 
from  Taylor's." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Tristrem  to  the  inn- 
keeper, who  spat  again  by  way  of  acknowl- 
edgment. "  Can  you  take  me  to  the  sta- 
tion ?  "  he  asked  the  negro  ;  and  on  receiving 
an  affirmative  reply,  he  told  him  to  stop  at 
Mrs.  Raritan's  for  his  traps. 

As  Tristrem  entered  the  gate  he  saw 
Viola's  assistant  of  the  preceding  evening 
drive  up,  waving  a  hat. 

"  I  got  it,"  the  man  cried  out,  "  here  it  is. 
First  time  it  ever  passed  a  night  out  of 
doors,  I'll  bet.  And  none  the  worse  for  it, 
either."  He  handed  it  over  to  Tristrem. 
"  I  dreamt  about  you  last  night,"  he 
added. 

"That's  odd,"  Tristrem  answered,  "I 
dreamed  about  you."  The  man  laughed  at 
this  as  had  he  never  heard  anything  so 
droll.  "Well,  I  swan!"  he  exclaimed,  and 
cracked  his  whip  with  delight.  His  horse 
started.  "  Here,"  he  said,  "  I  near  forgot. 


124  Tristrem  Varick. 

Whoa,  there,  can't  you.  This  goes  with  the 
hat."  And  he  crumpled  a  handkerchief  in 
his  hand,  and  tossing  it  to  Tristrem,  he  let 
the  horse  continue  his  way  unchecked. 

The  hat  which  the  man  had  found  did 
not  indeed  look  as  though  it  had  passed  a 
night  on  the  roadside.  Save  for  an  inci- 
dental speck  or  two  it  might  have  come 
fresh  from  a  bandbox.  Tristrem  carried  it 
into  the  cottage,  and  was  placing  it  on  the 
hall-table  when  Mrs.  Raritan  appeared. 

"I  am  so  sorry,"  she  began,  " Viola  has 
told  me " 

"  How  is  she  ?     May  I  not  see  her  ?" 

"  She  scarcely  slept  last  night." 

Tristrem  looked  in  the  lady's  face.  The 
lids  of  her  eyes  were  red  and  swollen. 

"  But  may  I  not  see  her  ?  May  I  not, 
merely  for  a  moment." 

"  She  is  sleeping  now,"  Mrs.  Raritan  an- 
swered ;  "  perhaps,"  she  added,  "  it  is  better 
that  you  should  not.  The  doctor  has  been 
here.  He  says  that  she  should  be  quiet. 
But  you  will  come  back,  will  you  not? 
Truly  I  sympathize  with  you." 

Mrs.  Raritan's  eyes  filled  with  tears,  but 
to  what  they  were  due,  who  shall  say  ?  She 


Tristrem  Varick.  125 

seemed  to  Tristrem  unaccountably  nervous 
and  distressed. 

"  There  is  nothing  serious  the  matter,  is 
there  ? "  he  asked,  anxiously.  And  at  the 
question,  Mrs.  Raritan  almost  choked.  She 
shook  her  head,  however,  but  Tristrem  was 
not  assured.  "  I  must  see  her,"  he  said,  and 
he  made  as  would  he  mount  the  stair. 

"  Mr.  Varick !  she  is  asleep.  She  has 
had  a  wretched  night.  When  you  are  able 
to  come  back,  it  will  be  different.  But  if 
you  care  for  her,  let  her  be." 

The  protest  was  almost  incoherent.  Mrs. 
Raritan  appeared  beside  herself  with  anx- 
iety. 

"Forgive  me,"  said  Tristrem,  "I  did  not 
mean  to  vex  you.  Nor  would  I  disturb 
her."  He  paused  a  second,  dumbly  and 
vaguely  afflicted.  "You  will  tell  her,  will 
you  not  ? "  he  added  ;  "  tell  her  this,  that  I 
wanted  to  see  her.  Mrs.  Raritan,  my  whole 
life  is  wrapped  up  in  her."  He  hesitated 
again.  "  You  are  tired  too,  I  can  see.  You 
were  up  with  her  last  night,  were  you  not?" 

Mrs.  Raritan  bowed  her  head. 

"  You  must  forgive  me,"  he  repeated,  4<  I 
did  not  understand.  Tell  me,"  he  contin- 


/26  Tristrem  Varich. 

ued,  "  last  night  I  awoke  thinking  that  I 
heard  her  calling.  Did  she  call  ?  " 

"  Call  what  ? " 

"  I  thought — you  see  I  was  half,  perhaps 
wholly  asleep,  but  I  thought  I  heard  her 
voice.  I  was  mistaken,  was  I  not  ?" 

"Yes,  you  must  have  been." 

The  negro  had  brought  down  the  luggage, 
and  stood  waiting  at  the  gate. 

"  You  will  tell  her — Mrs.  Raritan— I  love 
her  with  all  my  heart  and  soul." 

The  lady's  lips  quivered.  "  She  knows  it, 
and  so  do  I." 

"You  will  ask  her  to  write." 

"  Yes,  I  will  do  so." 

Tristrem  took  her  hand  in  his.  "Tell 
her  from  me,"  he  began,  but  words  failed 
him,  it  was  his  face  that  completed  the  mes- 
sage. In  a  moment  more  he  was  in  the 
coach  on  his  way  to  the  station. 

There  was  a  brisk  drive  along  the  sea,  a 
curve  was  rounded,  and  the  station  stood  in 
sight.  And  just  as  the  turn  was  made  Tris- 
trem caught  the  shriek  of  a  whistle. 

"There  she  goes,"  the  negro  exclaimed, 
"  you  ought  to  have  been  spryer." 

"  Has  the  train  gone  ?  "  Tristrem  asked. 


Tristrem  Varick. 

"  Can't  you  see  her  ?  I  knew  you'd  be 
late."  The  man  was  insolent  in  his  famili- 
arity, but  Tristrem  did  not  seem  to  no- 
tice it. 

"  I  would  have  given  much  not  to  be,"  he 
said. 

At  this  the  negro  became  a  trifle  less  un- 
civil. "Would  you  ree-ly  like  to  catch  that 
train  ? "  he  asked. 

"I  would  indeed." 

"  Is  it  worth  twenty-five  dollars  to  you  ?" 

Tristrem  nodded. 

"  Well,  boss,  I  tell  you.  That  train  stops 
at  Peacedale,  and  at  Wakefield  she  shunts 
off  till  the  mail  passes.  Like  as  not  the 
express  is  late.  If  I  get  you  to  Kingston 
before  the  Newport  passes,  will  you  give 
me  twenty-five  ? " 

"  If  I  make  the  connection  I  will  give 
you  fifty." 

"  That's  talking.  You'll  get  there,  boss. 
Just  lay  back  and  count  your  thumbs." 

The  negro  snapped  his  whip,  and  soon 
Tristrem  was  jolted  over  one  of  the  worst 
and  fairest  roads  of  New  England,  through 
a  country  for  which  nature  has  done  her 
best,  and  where  only  the  legislator  is  vile. 


128  Tristrem  Varick. 

One  hamlet  after  another  was  passed,  and 
still  the  coach  rolled  on. 

"We'll  get  there,"  the  negro  repeated 
from  time  to  time,  and  to  encourage  his 
fare  he  lashed  the  horses  to  their  utmost 
speed.  Peacedale  was  in  the  distance ; 
Wakefield  was  passed,  and  in  a  cloud  of 
dust  they  tore  through  Kingston  and  reached 
the  station  just  as  the  express  steamed  up. 

"  I  told  you  I'd  do  it,"  the  negro  ex- 
claimed, exultingly.  "  I'll  get  checks  for 
your  trunks." 

A  minute  or  two  more,  and  the  checks 
were  obtained  ;  the  negro  was  counting  a 
roll  of  bills,  and  in  a  drawing-room  car 
Tristrem  was  being  whirled  to  New  York. 

For  several  hours  he  sat  looking  out  at 
the  retreating  uplands,  villages,  and  valleys. 
But  after  a  while  he  remembered  the  scan- 
tiness of  his  breakfast,  and,  summoning  the 
porter,  he  obtained  from  him  some  food  and 
drink.  By  this  time  the  train  had  reached 
New  Haven,  and  there  Tristrem  alighted  to 
smoke  a  cigarette.  He  was,  however,  un- 
able to  finish  it  before  the  whistle  warned 
him  that  he  should  be  aboard  again.  The 
porter,  who  had  been  gratified  by  a  tip,  then 


Tristrem  Varick.  129 

told  him  that  there  was  a  smoking  compart- 
ment in  the  car  beyond  the  one  in  which  he 
had  sat,  and,  as  the  train  moved  on,  Tris- 
trem went  forward  in  the  direction  indi- 
cated. 

The  compartment  was  small,  with  seats 
for  two  on  one  side,  and  for  three,  or  for 
four  at  most,  on  the  other.  As  Tristrem 
entered  it  he  saw  that  the  larger  sofa  was 
occupied  by  one  man,  who  lay  out  on  it, 
full  length,  his  face  turned  to  the  partition. 
Tristrem  took  a  seat  opposite  him,  and  lit  a 
fresh  cigarette.  As  he  smoked  he  looked 
at  the  reclining  form  of  \\isvis-k-vis.  About 
the  man's  neck  a  silk  handkerchief  had  been 
rolled,  but  one  end  had  come  undone  and 
hung  loosely  on  the  cushion,  and  as  Tris- 
trem looked  he  noticed  that  on  the  neck 
was  a  wound,  unhealed  and  fresh,  a  line  of 
excoriation,  that  neither  steel  nor  shot  could 
have  caused,  but  which  might  have  come 
from  a  scratch.  But,  after  all,  what  business 
was  it  of  his  ?  And  he  turned  his  attention 
again  to  the  retreating  uplands  and  to  the 
villages  that  starred  the  route. 

When  the  cigarette  was  done,  he  stood 
up  to  leave  the  compartment.  But  how- 
9 


i  jo  Tristrem 

ever  quietly  he  had  moved,  he  seemed  to 
arouse  his  neighbor,  who  turned  heavily,  as 
though  to  change  his  position.  As  he  did 
so,  Tristrem  saw  that  it  was  Royal  Weldon, 
and  that  on  his  face  was  a  bruise.  He 
would  have  spoken,  for  Weldon  was  look- 
ing at  him,  but  he  recalled  the  wanton  lie 
of  the  week  before,  and  as  he  hesitated 
whether  to  speak  or  pass  on,  Weldon  half 
rose.  "Damn  you,"  he  said,  "you  are 
everywhere."  Then  he  lay  down,  turning 
his  face  again  to  the  wall,  and  Tristrem, 
without  a  word,  went  to  the  other  car  and 
found  his  former  seat. 

Two  hours  later  he  reached  his  home. 
He  let  himself  in  with  a  latch-key,  and  rang 
the  bell.  But  when  Harris  appeared  he 
knew  at  once,  by  the  expression  which  the 
butler  assumed,  that  he  had  come  too  late. 

"When  did  it  happen  ?"  he  asked. 

"  It  was  last  evening,  sir ;  he  came  in 
from  his  drive  and  inquired  for  you,  sir.  I 
said  that  you  had  gone  out  of  town,  and 
showed  him  the  address  you  left.  When  I 
went  to  hannounce  dinner,  sir,  he  was  sitting 
in  his  arm-chair  with  his  hat  on.  I  thought 
he  was  asleep.  I  sent  for  Dr.  McMasters, 


Tristrem  Varick.  131 

sir,  but  it  was  no  use.  Dr.  McMasters  said 
it  was  the  'art,  sir." 

"  You  have  notified  my  grandfather,  have 
you  not?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  did,  sir ;  Mr.  Van  Norden 
came  in  this  morning,  and  left  word  as  how 
he  would  like  to  see  you  when  you  got 
back,  sir." 

"Very  good.  Call  Davis,  and  get  my 
things  from  the  cabman." 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  thank  you,  sir.  I  beg  pardon, 
sir,"  he  added,  "would  you  wish  some  din- 
ner ?  There's  a  nice  fillet  and  a  savory." 

IX. 

THE  morning  after  the  funeral  Tristrem 
received  a  letter  from  Mrs.  Raritan,  and  a 
little  later  a  small  package  by  express.  The 
letter  was  not  long,  and  its  transcription  is 
unnecessary.  It  was  to  the  effect  that  on 
maturer  consideration  Viola  had  decided 
that  the  engagement  into  which  she  had 
entered  was  untenable.  To  this  decision 
Mrs.  Raritan  felt  herself  reluctantly  obliged 
to  concur.  It  was  not  that  Mr.  Varick  was 
one  whom  she  would  be  unwilling  to  wel- 


i  }2  Tristrem  Varick. 

come  as  her  daughter's  husband.  On  the 
contrary,  he  was  in  many  respects  precisely 
what  she  most  desired.  But  Viola  was 
young ;  she  felt  that  she  had  a  vocation  to 
which  marriage  would  be  an  obstacle,  and 
in  the  circumstances  Viola  was  the  bet- 
ter judge.  In  any  event,  Mr.  Varick  was 
requested  to  consider  the  decision  as  irrev- 
ocable. Then  followed  a  few  words  of 
sympathy  and  a  line  of  condolence  expres- 
sive of  Mrs.  Raritan's  regret  that  the  break- 
ing of  the  engagement  should  occur  at  a 
time  when  Tristrem  was  in  grievous  afflic- 
tion. 

In  the  package  were  the  jewels. 

Tristrem  read  the  letter  as  though  he 
were  reading  some  accusation  of  felony  lev- 
elled at  him  in  the  public  press.  If  it  had 
been  a  meteor  which  had  fallen  at  his  feet 
he  could  not  have  wondered  more.  Indeed, 
it  was  surprise  that  he  felt.  It  was  not 
anger  or  indignation  ;  they  were  after-com- 
ers. For  the  moment  he  was  merely  bewil- 
dered. It  seemed  to  him  incredible  that 
such  a  thing  could  be.  He  read  the  letter 
again,  and  even  examined  the  post-mark. 
At  first  he  was  for  starting  at  once  for  Nar- 


Tristrem  l/arick. 

ragansett.  If  he  could  but  see  Viola !  The 
excuse  about  a  vocation  was  nonsense. 
Had  he  not  told  her  that  if  she  insisted  on 
going  on  the  stage,  he  would  sit  in  the  stalls 
and  applaud.  No,  it  was  not  that ;  it  was 
because —  After  all,  it  was  his  own  fault ; 
if  he  had  been  unable  to  make  himself  be- 
loved, why  should  the  engagement  continue  ? 
But  had  an  opportunity  been  given  him  ? 
He  had  not  had  speech  with  her  since  that 
evening  when  she  had  drawn  his  face  to 
hers.  No,  it  could  not  be  that. 

He  bowed  his  head,  and  then  Anger  came 
and  sat  at  his  side.  What  had  he  done  to 
Destiny  that  he  should  be  to  it  the  play- 
thing that  he  was  ?  But  she  ;  she  was  more 
voracious  even  than  Fate.  No,  it  was  dam- 
nable. Why  should  she  take  his  heart  and 
torment  it  ?  Why,  having  given  love,  should 
she  take  it  away  ?  He  was  contented  enough 
until  he  saw  her.  Why  had  she  come  to 
him  as  the  one  woman  in  the  world/luring 
him  on  ;  yes,  for  she  had  lured  him  on  ? 
Why  had  she  made  him  love  her  as  he  could 
never  love  again,  and  just  when  she  placed 
her  hand  in  his, — a  mist,  a  phantom,  a  re- 
proach ?  Why  had  she  done  so  ?  Why  was 


134  Tristrem  Varick. 

the  engagement  untenable  ?  Untenable, 
indeed,  why  was  it  untenable  ?  Why — why 
— why  ?  And  in  the  increasing  exasperation 
of  the  moment,  Tristrem  did  a  thing  that, 
with  him,  was  unusual.  He  rang  the  bell, 
and  bade  the  servant  bring  him  drink. 

It  was  on  the  afternoon  of  that  day  that 
he  learned  the  tenor  of  his  father's  will. 
It  affected  him  as  a  chill  affects  a  man 
smitten  with  fever.  He  accepted  it  as  a 
matter  of  course.  It  was  not  even  the  last 
drop  ;  the  cup  was  full  as  it  stood.  What 
was  it  to  him  that  he  had  missed  being  one 
of  the  richest  men  in  New  York  in  compari- 
son to  the  knowledge  that  even  had  he  the 
mines  of  Ormuz  and  of  Ind,  the  revenue 
would  be  as  useless  to  him  as  the  hands  of 
the  dead  ?  Was  she  to  be  bought  ?  Had 
she  not  taken  herself  away  before  the  con- 
tents of  the  will  were  reported  ?  He  might 
be  able  to  call  the  world  his  own,  and  it 
would 'avail  him  nothing. 

The  will  left  him  strangely  insensible, 
though,  after  all,  one  may  wonder  whether 
winter  is  severer  than  autumn  to  a  flower 
once  dead. 

But  if  the  will  affected  Tristrem  but  little, 


Tristrem  Varick. 

it  stirred  Dirck  Van  Norden  to  paroxysms 
of  wrath.  "  He  ought  to  have  his  ghost 
kicked,"  he  said,  in  confidential  allusion  to 
Erastus  Varick.  "  It's  a  thing  that  cries  out 
to  heaven.  And  don't  you  tell  me,  sir,  that 
nothing  can  be  done." 

The  lawyer  with  whom  he  happened  to  be 
in  consultation  said  there  were  many  things 
that  could  be  done.  Indeed,  he  was  reas- 
suringly fecund  in  resources.  In  the  first 
place,  the  will  was  holographic.  That,  of 
course,  mattered  nothing ;  it  only  pointed  a 
moral.  Laymen  should  not  draw  up  their 
own  wills.  For  that  matter,  even  profes- 
sionals should  be  as  wary  of  so  doing  as  phy- 
sicians are  of  doctoring  themselves.  And  the 
lawyer  instanced  legal  luminaries,  judges 
whose  obiter  dicta  and  opinions  in  banco 
were  cited  and  received  with  the  greatest 
respect,  and  yet  through  whose  wills,  drawn 
up,  mark  you,  by  their  own  skilled  hands, 
coaches  and  tandems  had  been  driven  full 
speed.  In  regard  to  the  will  of  the  deceased 
there  was  this  to  be  said,  it  would  not  hold 
water.  Chapter  360,  Laws  of  1860,  declares 
that  no  person  having  a  husband,  wife, 
child,  or  parent,  shall  by  his  or  her  last 


/  }6  Tristrem  Varick. 

will  and  testament,  devise  or  -bequeath  to 
any  benevolent,  charitable,  scientific,  liter- 
ary, religious,  or  missionary  society,  associa- 
tion, or  corporation,  in  trust  or  otherwise, 
more  than  one-half  part  of  his  or  her  estate. 

"But  he  devised  the  whole." 

"  Yes,  so  he  did;  but  in  devising  it  he  over- 
looked that  very  wise  law.  My  opinion  in 
the  matter  is  this.  When,  may  I  ask,  was 
your  grandson  born  ? " 

"He  was  born  on  the  loth  of  June,  1859." 

"Exactly.  The  late  Mr.  Varick  deter- 
mined, on  the  birth  of  your  grandson,  that 
the  property  should  go  over.  His  reasons 
for  so  determining  are  immaterial.  Rufus 
K.  Taintor,  the  ablest  man,  sir,  that  ever  sat 
on  the  bench  or  addressed  it,  drew  up  the 
will  at  that  time  in  accordance  with  instruc- 
tions received.  Some  years  later,  Taintor 
died  of  apoplexy,  and  he  died,  too,  as  you 
doubtless  remember,  after  the  delivery  of 
that  famous  speech  in  the  Besalul  divorce 
case.  Well,  sir,  what  I  make  of  the  matter 
is  this.  The  late  Mr.  Varick,  relying  on 
Taintor's  ability,  and  possessing  possibly 
some  smattering  of  law  of  his  own,  recopied 
the  will  every  time  the  fancy  took  him  to 


Tristrem  Varick. 

make  minor  alterations  in  the  general  dis- 
tribution of  the  trust.  Consequently  his 
last  will  and  testament,  having  been  made 
since  the  passage  of  the  law  of  1860,  is  nu- 
gatory and  void  as  to  one-half  the  bequest, 
and  your  grandson  may  still  come  in  for  a 
very  pretty  sum." 

"  He  ought  to  have  it  all,"  said  Mr.  Van 
Norden,  decidedly. 

"  I  don't  dispute  that,  sir,  in  the  least — 
and  my  opinion  is  that  he  will  get  it.  This 
will  is  dated  five  days  previous  to  Mr.  Va- 
rick's  demise.  Now,  according  to  the  law  of 
1848,  Chapter  319,  and,  if  I  remember  right- 
ly, Section  6,  no  such  bequest  as  the  de- 
ceased's is  valid  in  any  will  which  shall  not 
have  been  made  and  executed  at  least  two 
months  before  the  death  of  the  testator. 
That,  sir,  I  consider  an  extremely  wise  bit 
of  legislation.  The  law  of  1860,  which  I 
quoted,  vitiates  the  will  as  to  one-half  the 
bequest  ;  the  law  of  1848  does  away  with 
the  will  altogether.  Practically  speaking, 
your  son-in-law  might  just  as  well  have  died 
intestate.  Though,  between  ourselves,  if 
Mr.  Varick  had  not  been  ignorant  of  these 
laws,  and  had  not,  in  consequence  of  his  ig- 


/  $8  Tristrem  Varick. 

norance,  made  a  disposition  of  certain  pri- 
vate documents  the  contents  of  which  are 
easily  guessed,  your  -grandson  would  have 
merely  a prima facie  right  to  have  the  will  set 
aside ;  for,  if  you  remember,  these  laws  were 
passed  only  to  provide  for  the  possible  inter- 
ests of  a  surviving  husband,  wife,  or  child" 

He  emphasized  the  last  word,  and,  as  his 
meaning  grew  clear  to  Mr.  Van  Norden, 
that  gentleman  got  very  red  in  the  face. 
He  rang  the  bell. 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  he  said.  "I  shall  be 
indebted  if  you  -will  send  me  your  account. 
And  I  shall  be  particularly  indebted  if  you 
will  send  it  at  your  very  earliest  conven- 
ience. Henry,  get  this — this — get  this  gen- 
tleman his  hat  and  see  him  to  the  street." 

Unfortunately  for  those  that  practise, 
there  are  a  great  many  more  lawyers  in  New 
York  than  one.  And  before  the  last  will 
and  testament  of  Erastus  Varick  came  up 
for  probate,  Mr.  Van  Norden  experienced 
slight  difficulty  in  retaining  another  attor- 
ney to  defend  Tristrem's  interests.  The 
matter,  of  course,  was  set  down  for  a  hear- 
ing, and  came  up  on  the  calendar  three 
months  later. 


Tristrem  Varick. 

Of  the  result  of  that  hearing  the  reader 
has  been  already  informed,  and  then  it  was 
that  Tristrem  was  taxed  with  old-world 
folly. 


X. 


IN  years  gone  by  it  had  been  Mr.  Van 
Norden's  custom  to  pass  the  heated  term  at 
Rockaway.  But  when  Rockaway  became 
a  popular  resort,  Mr.  Van  Norden,  like  the 
sensible  man  that  he  was,  discovered  that 
his  own  house  was  more  comfortable  than 
a  crowded  hotel.  This  particular  summer, 
therefore,  he  passed  as  usual  in  New 
York,  and  Tristrem,  who  had  moved  to  his 
house,  kept  him  company.  June  was  not 
altogether  disagreeable,  but  in  July  the  city 
was  visited  by  a  heat  at  once  insistent  and 
enervating.  In  August  it  was  cooler,  as  our 
Augusts  are  apt  to  be ;  yet  the  air  was  life- 
less, and  -  New  York  was  not  a  nosegay. 
During  these  months  Tristrem  was  as  life- 
less as  the  air.  In  his  first  need  of  sympathy 
he  'had  gone  to  the  irascible  and  kind- 
hearted  old  gentleman  and  told  him  of  the 
breaking  of  the  engagement,  and.  he  might 


140  Tristrem  l/arick. 

have  added,  of  his  heart,  though  in  the  tell- 
ing he  sought,  with  a  lover's  fealty,  to  palli- 
ate the  grievousness  of  the  cruelty  to  which 
he  had  been  subjected. 

"  It  is  this  way,"  he  said  ;  "  Viola,  I  think, 
feels  that  she  does  not  know  me  sufficiently 
well.  After  all,  we  have  seen  but  little  of 
each  other,  and  if  she  accepted  me,  it  was 
on  the  spur  of  the  moment.  Since  then  she 
has  thought  of  it  more  seriously.  It  is  for 
me  to  win  her,  not  for  her  to  throw  herself 
in  my  arms.  That  is  what  she  has  thought. 
She  may  seem  capricious ;  and  what  if  she 
does  ?  Your  knowledge  of  women  has,  I 
am  sure,  made  you  indulgent." 

"Not  in  the  least,"  Mr.  Van  Norden  an- 
swered. And  then,  for  the  time  being,  the 
subject  was  dropped. 

It  was  this  semi-consolatory  view  which 
Tristrem  took  of  the  matter  after  the  effect 
of  the  first  shock  had  lost  its  force.  But 
when  he  received  the  bundle  of  letters,  to- 
gether with  the  Panama  hat,  which,  through 
some  splendid  irony,  had  been  devised  to 
him  in  the  only  clause  of  the  will  in  which 
his  name  was  mentioned,  it  was  as  though  a 
flash  had  rent  the  darkness  and  revealed  in 


Tristrem  Varick.  141 

one  quick  glare  an  answer  to  the  enigma  in 
which  he  groped. 

The  letters  were  few  in  number — a  dozen 
at  most — and  they  were  tied  together  with 
a  bit  of  faded  ribbon.  They  were  all  in  the 
same  hand,  one  and  all  contained  protesta- 
tions of  passionate  love,  and  each  was 
signed  in  full,  Roanoke  Raritan.  The  en- 
velope which  held  them  was  addressed  to 
Mrs.  Erastus  Varick. 

It  was  then  that  he  saw  the  reason  of  his 
disinheritance,  and  it  was  then  that  he  un- 
derstood the  cause  of  Viola's  withdrawal. 
It  was  evident  to  him  that  Mrs.  Raritan 
possessed  either  thorough  knowledge  of  the 
facts,  or  else  that  she  had  some  inkling  of 
them  which  her  feminine  instinct  had  sup- 
plemented into  evidence,  and  which  had 
compelled  her  to  forbid  the  banns.  There 
were,  however,  certain  things  which  he 
could  not  make  clear  to  his  mind.  Why 
had  Mrs.  Raritan  treated  him  with  such 
consideration  ?  She  had  known  from  the 
first  that  he  loved  her  daughter.  And  after 
the  engagement,  if  she  wished  it  broken, 
why  had  she  allowed  Viola  to  invite  him  to 
the  Pier  ? 


142  Tristrem  Varick. 

These  things  were  at  first  inexplicable  to 
him.  Afterward  he  fancied  that  it  might  be 
that  Mrs.  Raritan,  originally  uninformed, 
had  become  so  only  through  the  man  whom 
he  had  believed  was  his  father,  after  the  an- 
nouncement of  the  engagement  had  been 
made  to  him,  and  possibly  through  some 
communication  which  had  only  reached  her 
after  his  sudden  death.  This  explanation 
he  was  inclined  to  accept,  and  he  was  par- 
ticularly inclined  to  do  so  on  recalling  the 
spasm  which  had  agitated  the  deceased 
when  he  had  come  to  him  with  the  intelli- 
gence of  the  engagement,  and  the  nervous 
excitement  which  Mrs.  Raritan  displayed 
on  the  morning  when  he  left  for  town. 

This  explanation  he  accepted  later — but 
in  the  horror  of  the  situation  in  which  he 
first  found  himself  his  mind  declined  to 
act.  He  had  never  known  his  mother,  but 
her  fame  he  had  cherished  as  one  cherishes 
that  which  is  best  and  most  perfect  of  all. 
And  abruptly  that  fame  was  tarnished,  as 
some  fair  picture  might  be  sullied  by  a 
splash  and  splatter  of  mud.  And  as  though 
that  were  insufficient,  the  letters  which  dev- 
astated his  mother's  honor  brought  him  a 


Tristrem  Varick.  143 

hideous  suspicion,  and  one  which  developed 
into  certainty,  that  his  father  and  the  father 
of  the  girl  whom  he  loved  were  one  and 
the  same. 

It  is  not  surprising,  then,  that  during  the 
summer  months  Tristrem  was  as  lifeless  as 
the  air  he  breathed.  His  grandfather  no- 
ticed the  change — he  would  have  been  blind 
indeed  had  he  not — and  he  urged  him  to 
leave  New  York.  But  at  each  remonstrance 
Tristrem  shook  his  head  with  persistent 
apathy.  What  did  it  matter  to  him  where 
he  was  ?  If  New  York,  instead  of  being 
merely  hot  and  uncomfortable,  had  been 
cholera-smitten,  and  the  prey  of  pest,  Tris- 
trem's  demeanor  would  not  have  altered. 
There  are  people  whom  calamity  affects 
like  a  tonic,  who  rise  from  misfortune  re- 
freshed ;  there  are  others  on  whom  disaster 
acts  like  a  soporific,  and  he  was  one  of  the 
latter.  For  three  months  he  did  not  open  a 
book,  the  daily  papers  were  taken  from  him 
unread,  and  if  during  that  time  he  had  lost 
his  reason,  it  is  probable  that  his  insanity 
would  have  consisted  in  sitting  always  with 
eyes  fixed,  without  laughing,  weeping,  or 
changing  place. 


144  Tristrem  Varick. 

But  after  the  hearing  in  the  Surrogate's 
Court  there  was  a  change  of  scene.  The 
will  was  set  aside,  and  the  estate,  of  which 
Tristrem  had  taken  absolutely  no  thought 
whatever,  reverted  to  him.  It  was  then 
that  he  made  it  over  in  its  entirety  to  the 
institution  to  which  it  had  been  originally 
devised  ;  and  it  was  in  connection  with  the 
disposal  of  the  property,  a  disposal  which 
he  effected  as  a  matter  of  course,  and  as  the 
only  right  and  proper  thing  for  him  to  do, 
that  he  enjoyed  a  memorable  interview  with 
his  grandfather. 

He  had  not  spoken  to  Mr.  Van  Norden 
about  the  letters,  and  the  old  gentleman, 
through  some  restraining  sense  of  delicacy, 
had  hesitated  to  question.  Besides,  he  was 
confident  that  the  estate  would  be  Tris- 
trem's,  and  thus  assured,  it  seemed  unne- 
cessary to  him  to  touch  on  a  matter  to  which 
Tristrem  had  not  alluded,  and  which  was 
presumably  distasteful  to  him.  But  when 
he  learned  what  Tristrem  had  done,  he 
looked  upon  the  matter  in  a  different  light, 
and  attacked  him  very  aggressively  the 
next  day. 

"  I    can    understand    perfectly,"  he    said, 


Tristrem  Varick.  145 

"  that  you  should  decline  to  hold  property 
on  what  you  seem  to  regard  as  a  legal  quib- 
ble. But  I  should  be  very  much  gratified 
to  learn  in  what  your  judgment  is  superior 
to  that  of  the  Legislature,  and  why  you 
should  refuse  that  to  which  you  had  as  clear 
and  indefeasible  a  claim  as  I  have  to  this 
fob  on  my  waistcoat.  I  should  be  really 
very  much  gratified  to  learn " 

Tristrem  looked  at  his  grandfather  very 
much  as  though  he  had  been  asked  to  open 
a  wound.  But  he  answered  nothing.  He 
got  the  letters  and  placed  them  in  the  old 
gentleman's  hand. 

Mr.  Van  Norden  glanced  at  one,  and  then 
turned  to  Tristrem.  It  was  evident  that 
he  was  in  the  currents  of  conflicting  and 
retroacting  emotions.  He  made  as  though 
he  would  speak,  yet  for  the  time  being  the 
intensity  of  his  feelings  prevented  him. 
He  took  up  the  letters  again  and  eyed  them, 
shaking  his  head  as  he  did  so  with  the  an- 
ger of  one  enraged  at  the  irreparable,  and 
conscious  of  the  futility  of  the  wrath. 

In  the  lives  of  most  men  and  women 
there  are  moments  in  which  they  are  preg- 
nant with  words.  The  necessity  of  speech 
10 


146  Tristrem  Varick. 

is  so  great  that  until  the  parturition  is  ac- 
complished they  experience  the  throes  of 
suffocation.  If  no  listener  be  at  hand,  there 
are  at  least  the  walls.  Mr.  Van  Norden 
was  standing  near  to  Tristrem,  but  that  he 
might  be  the  better  assured  of  his  attention, 
he  caught  him  by  the  arm,  and  addressed 
him  in  abrupt,  disjointed  sentences,  in  a 
torrent  of  phrases,  unconnected,  as  though 
others  than  himself  beat  their  vocables  from 
his  mouth.  His  words  were  so  tumultuous 
that  they  assailed  the  gates  of  speech,  as 
spectators  at  the  sight  of  flame  crowd  the 
exits  of  a  hall,  and  issue,  some  as  were  they 
hurled  from  catapults,  others,  maimed,  in 
disarray. 

He  was  possessed  of  anger,  and  as  some- 
times happens  off  the  stage,  his  anger  was 
splendid  and  glorious  to  behold.  And 
Tristrem,  with  the  thirst  of  one  who  has 
drunk  of  thirst  itself,  caught  the  cascade  of 
words,  and  found  in  them  the  waters  and 
fountains  of  life. 

"These  letters But  how  is  it  pos- 
sible ?  God  in  Heaven !  But  can't 

you  see  ?  —  the  bare  idea  is  an  infamy. 
Your  mother  was  as  interested  in  Raritan 


Tristrem  ISarick.  147 

as — as It's   enough   to   make   a   mad 

dog  blush.  It  was  just  a  few  months  be- 
fore you  were  born Bah !  the  imbe- 
cility of  Erastus  Varick  would  unnerve  a 
pirate.  I  know  he  was  always  running 
there,  Raritan  was,  but  anyone  with  the 
brain  of  a  wooden  Indian  would  have  un- 
derstood   Why,  they  were  here — they 

came  to  me,  all  three  of  them,  and  because 

I  knew  her  father And  precious  little 

thanks  I  got  for  my  pains.  He  said  he 
would  see  the  girl  in  her  grave  first.  He 
would  have  it  that  Raritan  was  after  her  for 
her  money.  It's  true  he  hadn't  a  penny — 
but — what's  that  got  to  do  with  it  ?  The 
mischief's  done.  She  must  have  sent  these 
letters  to  your  mother  to  return  to  Raritan 
just  before  she  married  that  idiot  Wain  war- 
ing. Your  mother  was  her  most  intimate 
friend — they  were  at  school  together  at  Pel- 
ham  Priory.  Raritan,  I  suppose,  was  away. 
Before  he  got  back,  your  mother — you 
were  born,  you  know,  and  she  died.  She 
had  no  chance  to  return  them.  That  imbe- 
cile of  a  father  of  yours  must  have  found 

the  letters,  and  thought But  how  is 

such   a  thing   possible  ?    Good   God !    he 


148  Tristrem  Varick. 

ought  to  be  dug  up  and  covvhided.  And  it 
was  for  this  he  left  you  a  Panama  hat ! 
And  it  was  for  this  you  have  turned  over 
millions  to  an  institution  for  the  shelter  of 

vice  !  It  was  for  this See  here,  since 

Christ  was  crucified,  a  greater  stupidity,  or 
one  more  iniquitous,  has  never  been  com- 
mitted." 

In  the  magnificence  of  his  indignation, 
Mr.  Van  Norden  stormed  on  until  he  lacked 
the  strength  to  continue.  But  he  stormed 
to  ravished  and  indulgent  ears.  And  when 
at  last  he  did  stop,  Tristrem,  who  mean- 
while had  been  silent  as  a  mouse,  went 
over  to  the  arm-chair  into  which,  in  his  ex- 
haustion, he  had  thrown  himself,  and 
touched  his  shoulder. 

"  If  he  did  not  wish  me  to  have  the 
money,"  he  said,  "  how  could  I  keep  it  ? 
How  could  I  ? "  And  before  the  honesty 
that  was  in  his  face  the  old  man  lowered 
his  eyes  to  the  ground.  "  I  am  gladder," 
Tristrem  continued,  "  to  know  myself  his 
son  than  to  be  the  possessor  of  all  New 
York.  But  when  I  thought  that  I  was  not 
his  son,  was  that  a  reason  why  I  should 
cease  to  be  a  gentleman.  Though  I  lost 


Tristrem  Varick.  149 

everything  else,  what  did  it  matter  if  I  kept 
my  self-respect  ? " 

He  waited  a  moment  for  an  answer,  and 
then  a  very  singular  thing  happened.  From 
Dirck  Van  Norden's  lowered  eyes  first  one 
tear  and  then  a  second  rolled  down  into  the 
furrows  of  his  cheek.  From  his  throat 
came  a  sound  that  did  not  wholly  resemble 
a  sob  and  yet  was  not  like  to  laughter,  his 
mouth  twitched,  and  he  turned  his  head 
aside.  "  It's  the  first  time  since  your  mother 
died,"  he  said  at  last,  but  what  he  meant  by 
that  absurd  remark,  who  shall  say  ? 

For  some  time  Tristrem  lingered,  lost  in 
thought.  It  was  indeed  as  he  had  said. 
He  was  gladder  to  feel  again  that  he  was  free 
to  love  and  free  to  be  loved  in  return  than 
he  would  have  been  at  holding  all  New 
York  in  fee.  As  he  rose  from  the  night- 
mare in  which  he  suffocated  he  did  not  so 
much  as  pay  the  lost  estate  the  compliment 
of  a  regret.  It  was  not  that  which  had  de- 
barred him  from  her,  nor  was  it  for  that 
that  she  had  once  placed  her  hand  in  his. 
He  was  well  rid  of  it  all,  since  in  the  rid- 
dance the  doors  of  his  prison-house  were 
unlocked.  For  three  months  his  heart  had 


750  Tristrem  Varick. 

been  not  dead  but  haunted,  and  now  it  was 
instinct  with  life  and  fluttered  by  the  beck- 
onings  of  hope.  He  had  fronted  sorrow. 
Pain  had  claimed  him  for  its  own,  and  in  its 
intensity  it  had  absorbed  his  tears.  He  had 
sunk  to  the  uttermost  depths  of  grief,  and 
unbereft  of  reason,  he  had  explored  the  hor- 
rors of  the  abyss.  And  now  in  the  magic 
of  the  unforeseen  he  was  transported  to 
dazzling  altitudes,  to  landscapes  from  which 
happiness,  like  the  despot  that  it  is,  had 
routed  sorrow  and  banished  pain.  He  was 
like  one  who,  overtaken  by  years  and  dis- 
ease, suddenly  finds  his  youth  restored. 

His  plans  were  quickly  made.  He  would 
go  to  Narragansett  at  once,  and  not  leave 
until  the  engagement  was  renewed.  He 
had  even  the  cruelty  to  determine  that  his 
grandfather  should  come  to  the  Pier  him- 
self, and  argue  with  Mrs.  Raritan,  if  argu- 
ment were  necessary. 

"  I  have  so  much  to  say,"  he  presently 
exclaimed,  "  that  I  don't  know  where  to  be- 
gin." 

"  Begin  at  the  end,"  his  grandfather  sug- 
gested. 

But  Tristrem  found  it  more  convenient  to 


Tristrem  l/arick.  151 

begin  in  the  middle.  He  led  the  old  gentle- 
man into  the  rhyme  and  reason  of  the  rupt- 
ure, he  carried  him  forward  and  backward 
from  old  fancies  to  newer  hopes.  He  ex- 
plained how  imperative  it  was  that  with  the 
demolition  of  the  obstacle  which  his  father 
had  erected  the  engagement  should  be  at 
once  renewed  ;  he  blamed  himself  for  hav- 
ing even  suggested  that  Viola  was  capri- 
cious ;  he  mourned  over  the  position  in 
which  she  had  been  placed ;  he  pictured 
Mrs.  Raritan's  relief  when  she  learned  of 
the  error  into  which  she  had  wandered  ;  and 
after  countless  digressions  wound  up  by 
commanding  his  grandfather  to  write  an  ex- 
planation which  would  serve  him  as  a  pass- 
port to  renewed  and  uninterruptable  favor. 

"  Certainly — certainly,"  Mr.  Van  Norden 
cried,  with  the  impatience  of  one  battling 
against  a  stream.  "  But  even  granting  that 
your  father  wrote  to  Mrs.  Raritan,  which  I 
doubt — although,  to  be  sure,  he  was  capable 
of  anything — don't  you  see  that  you  are 
in  a  very  different  position  to-day  than  you 
would  have  been  had  you  not — had  you 
not " 

"You  mean  about  the  money  ?" 


/  52  Tristrem 

"  Why,  most  assuredly  I  mean  about  the 
money,"  the  old  gentleman  cried,  aroused 
to  new  indignation  by  the  wantonness  of 
the  question. 

At  this  Tristrem,  with  the  blithe  confi- 
dence of  a  lover,  shook  his  head.  "You 
don't  know  Viola,"  he  answered.  "  Besides, 
I  can  work.  Other  men  do — why  shouldn't 
I?" 

"And  be  able  to  marry  when  you  are 
ready  for  the  grave.  That's  nonsense.  Un- 
less the  young  lady  is  a  simpleton,  and  her 
mother  a  fit  subject  for  Bedlam,  don't  tell 
them  that  you  are  going  to  work.  And 
what  would  you  work  at,  pray  ?  No,  no — 
that  won't  do.  You  are  as  fitted  to  go  into 
business  as  I  am  to  open  a  bake-shop." 

"  I  might  try  stocks,"  said  Tristrem,  brave- 

iy- 

"  So  you  might,  if  you  had  the  St.  Nicho- 
las money  to  start  with.  And  even  then  you 
would  have  to  lose  two  fortunes  before  you 
could  learn  how  to  make  one.  No,  if  you 
have  not  six  or  seven  millions,  you  will,  one 
of  these  days — and  the  later  the  day  the 
better  for  me — you  will  have  a  few  hundred 
thousand.  It  is  paltry  enough  in  compari- 


Tristrem  Varick.  153 

son  to  the  property  which  you  threw  out  of 
the  window,  but,  paltry  or  not,  it's  more  than 

you  deserve.    Meanwhile,  I  will There, 

don't  begin  your  nonsense  again,  sir.  For 
the  last  three  months  you  have  done  nothing 
but  bother  the  soul  out  of  me.  Meanwhile, 
if  you  don't  accept  what  I  care  to  give,  and 
accept  it,  what's  more,  with  a  devilish  good 
grace,  I'll — I'll  disinherit  you  myself — begad 
I  will.  I'll  leave  everything  I  have  to  the 
St.  Nicholas.  It's  a  game  that  two  can  play 
at.  You  have  set  the  fashion,  and  you  can 
abide  by  it.  And  now  I  would  be  very 
much  indebted  if  you  would  let  me  get 
some  rest." 

Therewith  the  fierce  old  gentleman  looked 
Tristrem  in  the  eyes,  and  grasping  him  by 
the  shoulder,  he  held  him  to  him  for  a  sec- 
ond's space. 


XI. 


WHEN  Tristrem  reached  Narragansett  he 
had  himself  driven  to  an  hotel,  where  he  re- 
moved the  incidental  traces  of  travel  before 
venturing  to  present  himself  at  the  villa. 
It  was  a  glorious  forenoon,  and  as  he 


i$4  Tristrem  Varick. 

dressed,  the  tonic  that  was  blown  to  him 
through  the  open  window  affected  his  spirits 
like  wine.  The  breeze  promised  victory. 
He  had  been  idle  and  dilatory,  he  told  him- 
self ;  but  he  was  older,  the  present  was  his, 
and  he  felt  the  strength  to  make  it  wholly 
to  his  use.  The  past  would  be  forgotten 
and  put  aside  ;  no,  but  utterly,  as  Nature 
forgets — and  in  the  future,  what  things  might 
be! 

"  O  Magali,  ma  bien  aim^e, 

Fuyons  tous  deux,  tous  de — ux " 

The  old  song  came  back  to  him,  and  as 
he  set  out  for  the  villa  he  hummed  it  gayly 
to  himself.  The  villa  was  but  the  throw  of 
a  stone  from  the  hotel,  and  in  a  moment  he 
would  be  there.  He  was  just  a  little  bit 
nervous,  and  he  walked  rapidly.  As  he 
reached  the  gate  his  excitement  increased. 
In  his  breast  was  a  tightening  sensation. 
And  then  at  once  he  stopped  short.  On 
the  door  of  the  cottage  hung  a  sign,  bear- 
ing for  legend,  "To  Let — Furnished." 

"  But  it  is  impossible,"  he  exclaimed ; 
"  they  were  to  be  here  till  October." 

He  went  up  and  rang  the  bell.  The  front 
windows  were  closed  and  barred.  The 


Tristrem  Varick.  /55 

porch  on  which  he  stood  was  chairless. 
He  listened,  and  heard  no  sound.  He  tried 
the  door — it  was  locked. 

"But  it  is  impossible,"  he  kept  repeat- 
ing. "  H'm  !  '  To  let — furnished ;  for  partic- 
ulars apply  to  J.  F.  Brown,  at  the  Casino.' 
Most  certainly,  I  will— most  certainly,"  and 
monologuing  in  the  fashion  that  was  pecul- 
iar to  him,  he  went  down  the  road  again, 
mindful  only  of  his  own  perplexity. 

On  reaching  the  Casino  he  found  that  he 
would  have  no  difficulty  in  seeing  the  agent. 
Mr.  Brown,  the  door-keeper  told  him,  was 
"  right  in  there,"  and  as  he  gave  this  infor- 
mation he  pointed  to  a  cramped  little  office 
which  stood  to  the  left  of  the  entrance. 

"Is  this  Mr.  Brown  ?"  Tristrem  began. 
"  Mr.  Brown,  I  am  sorry  to  trouble  you. 
Would  you  be  good  enough  to  tell  me  about 
Mrs.  Raritan's  cottage.  I " 

"  For  next  summer  ?  Nine  hundred,  pay- 
able in  advance." 

"  I  didn't  mean  about  the  price.  I  meant 
— I  was  told  that  Mrs.  Raritan  had  taken  it 
until  October— 

"So  she  did.  You  can  sublet  for  the 
balance  of  the  season." 


1 56  Tristrem  Varick. 

"  Thank  you — yes — but  Mrs.  Raritan 
hasn't  gone  away,  has  she  ?  " 

"  She  went  weeks  ago.  There's  nothing 
the  matter  with  the  cottage,  however. 
Drainage  excellent." 

"  I  have  no  doubt.  But  can  you  tell  me 
where  Mrs.  Raritan  went  to  ?" 

"  I  haven't  the  remotest  idea.  Lenox, 
perhaps.  If  you  want  to  look  at  the  cot- 
tage I'll  give  you  the  key." 

"  I  should  think Really,  I  must  apol- 
ogize for  troubling  you.  Didn't  Mrs.  Rari- 
tan leave  her  address  ? " 

"  If  she  did,  it  wasn't  with  me.  When  do 
you  want  the  cottage  for  ?" 

Tristrem  had  not  the  courage  to  question 
more.  He  turned  despondently  from  Mr. 
Brown,  and  passing  on  through  the  vesti- 
bule, reached  the  veranda  that  fronts  the 
sea.  In  an  angle  a  group  of  violinists  were 
strumming  an  inanity  of  Strauss  with  per- 
fect independence  of  one  another.  Beyond, 
on  the  narrow  piazza,  and  on  a  division  of 
the  lawn  that  leaned  to  the  road,  were  a 
number  of  small  tables  close-packed  with 
girls  in  bright  costumes  and  men  in  loose 
flannels  and  coats  of  diverting  hues.  At 


Tristrem  Varick.  757 

the  open  windows  of  the  restaurant  other 
groups  were  seated,  dividing  their  attention 
between  the  food  before  them  and  the 
throng  without.  And  through  the  crowd  a 
number  of  Alsatians  pushed  their  way,  bear- 
ing concoctions  to  the  thirstless.  The  hub- 
bub was  enervating,  and  in  the  air  was  a 
stench  of  liquor  with  which  the  sea-breeze 
coped  in  vain. 

Tristrem  hesitated  a  second,  and  would 
have  fled.  He  was  in  one  of  those  moods 
in  which  the  noise  and  joviality  of  pleasure- 
seekers  are  jarring  even  to  the  best-disposed. 
While  he  hesitated  he  saw  a  figure  rising 
and  beckoning  from  a  table  on  the  lawn. 
And  as  he  stood,  uncertain  whether  or  no 
the  signals  were  intended  for  him,  the  figure 
crossed  the  intervening  space,  and  he  recog- 
nized Alphabet  Jones. 

"Come  and  have  a  drink,"  said  that  en- 
gaging individual.  "  You're  as  solemn  as  a 
comedian.  I  give  you  my  word,  I  believe 
you  are  the  only  sober  man  in  the  place." 

"  Thank  you,"  Tristrem  answered  ;  "  I  be- 
lieve I  do  not  care  for  anything.  I  only 

came  to  ask By  the  way,  have  you 

been  here  long  ? " 


158  Tristrem 

"Off  and  on  all  summer.  It's  a  good 
place  for  points.  You  got  my  card,  didn't 
you  ?  I  wanted  to  express  my  sympathy  at 
your  bereavement." 

"  You  are  very  kind  ;  I " 

"  But  what's  this  I  hear  about  you  ? 
You've  bloomed  out  into  a  celebrity.  Every- 
body is  talking  about  you — everybody,  men, 
women,  and  children,  particularly  the  girls. 
When  a  fellow  gives  away  a  fortune  like 
that  !  Mais,  tu  sais,  mon  cher,  cest  beau,  c'est 
bien  beau,  fa."  And  to  himself  he  added, 
"  Ei  fan  btu:* 

Already  certain  members  of  immediate 
groups  had  become  interested  in  the  new 
arrival,  and  it  seemed  to  Tristrem  that  he 
heard  his  name  circulating  above  the  jangle 
of  the  waltz. 

"  I  am  going  to  the  hotel,"  he  said.  "I 
wish  you  would  walk  back  with  me.  I 
haven't  spoken  to  a  soul  in  an  age.  It 
would  be  an  act  of  charity  to  tell  me  the 
gossip."  Tristrem,  as  he  made  this  invita- 
tion, marvelled  at  his  own  duplicity.  For 
the  time  being,  he  cared  for  the  society  of 
Alphabet  Jones  as  he  cared  for  the  com- 
panionship of  a  bum-bailiff.  Yet  still  he 


Tristrem  Varick.  159 

lured  him  from  the  Casino  and  led  him  up 
the  road,  in  the  hope  that  perhaps  without 
direct  questioning  he  might  gain  some 
knowledge  of  Her. 

As  they  walked  on  Jones  descanted  in 
the  arbitrary  didactic  manner  which  is  the 
privilege  of  men  of  letters  whose  letters  are 
not  in  capitals,  and  moralized  on  a  variety 
of  topics,  not  with  any  covert  intention  of 
boring  Tristrem,  but  merely  from  a  habit  he 
had  of  rehearsing  ready-made  phrases  and 
noting  their  effect  on  a  particular  listener. 
This  exercise  he  found  beneficial.  In  airing 
his  views  he  sometimes  stumbled  on  a  good 
thing  which  he  had  not  thought  of  in  pri- 
vate. And  as  he  talked  Tristrem  listened, 
in  the  hope  that  he  might  say  something 
which  would  permit  him  to  lead  up  to  the 
subject  that  was  foremost  in  his  mind.  But 
nothing  of  such  a  nature  was  touched  upon, 
and  it  was  not  until  the  cottage  was  reached 
that  Tristrem  spoke  at  all. 

"  The  Raritans  have  gone,  I  see,"  he  re- 
marked, nodding  at  the  cottage  as  he  did 
so. 

"  Yes,  I  see  by  the  papers  that  they  sailed 
yesterday." 


160  Tristrem  Varick. 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  they  have  gone 
to  Europe.  I  thought — I  heard  they  were 
going  to  Lenox." 

"  If  they  were,  they  changed  their  plans. 
Miss  Raritan  didn't  seem  up  to  the  mark 
when  she  was  here.  In  some  way  she  re- 
minded me  of  a  realized  ideal — the  charm 
had  departed.  She  used  to  be  enigmatical 
in  her  beauty,  but  this  summer,  though  the 
beauty  was  still  there,  it  was  no  longer  enig- 
matical, it  was  like  a  problem  solved.  After 
all,  it's  the  way  with  our  girls.  A  winter  or 
two  in  New  York  would  take  the  color  out 
of  the  cheeks  of  a  Red  Indian.  Apropos  de 
bottes,  weren't  you  rather  smitten  in  that  di- 
rection ?  " 

"  And  you  say  they  have  gone  abroad  ? " 
Tristrem  repeated,  utterly  unimpressed  by 
the  ornateness  of  the  novelist's  remarks. 

"  Yes,  sir ;  and  were  it  not  that  our  beastly 
Government  declines  to  give  me  the  benefit 
of  an  international  copyright,  I  should  be 
able  to  go  and  do  likewise.  It's  enough  to 
turn  an  author  into  an  anarchist.  Why,  you 
would  be  surprised " 

Jones  rambled  on,  but  Tristrem  no  longer 
listened.  The  position  in  which  he  found 


Tristrem  Varick.  161 

himself  was  more  irritating  than  a  dream. 
He  was  dumbly  exasperated.  It  was  his 
own  inaction  that  was  the  cause  of  it  all. 
If  he  had  but  bestirred  himself  sooner  !  In- 
stead of  struggling  against  that  which  every 
throb  of  his  heart  convinced  him  was  false, 
he  had  dawdled  with  the  impossible  and 
toyed  with  apostils  of  grief.  At  the  first 
obstacle  he  had  turned  aside.  Where  he 
should  have  been  resolute,  he  had  been  weak. 
He  had  taken  mists  for  barriers.  A  child 
frightened  at  its  own  shadow  was  never 
more  absurd  than  he.  And  Viola— it  was 
not  surprising  that  the  color  had  deserted 
her  cheeks.  It  was  no  wonder  that  in  his 
imbecile  silence  she  had  gone  away.  It  was 
only  surprising  that  she  had  not  gone  be- 
fore. And  if  she  had  waited,  might  it  not 
be  that  she  waited  expectant  of  some  effort 
from  him,  hoping  against  hope,  and  when 
he  had  made  no  sign  had  believed  in  his 
defeat,  and  left  him  to  it.  There  was  no 
blame  for  her.  And  now,  if  he  were  free 
again,  that  very  liberty  was  due  not  to  his 
own  persistence,  but  to  chance.  Surely 
she  was  right  to  go.  Yet — yet — but,  after 
all,  it  was  not  too  late.  Wherever  she  had  gone 
ii 


1 62  Tristrem  Varick. 

he  could  follow.  He  would  find  her,  and 
tell  her,  and  hold  her  to  him. 

Already  he  smiled  in  scenes  forecast.  The 
exasperation  had  left  him.  Whether  he  came 
to  Narragansett  or  journeyed  to  Paris,  what 
matter  did  it  make?  The  errand  was  identi- 
cal, and  the  result  would  be  the  same.  How 
foolish  of  him  to  be  annoyed  because  he 
had  not  found  her,  in  garlands  of  orange- 
blossoms,  waiting  on  a  balcony  to  greet  his 
coming.  The  very  fact  of  her  absence  added 
new  weight  to  the  import  of  his  message. 
Yes,  he  would  return  to  town  at  once,  and 
the  next  steamer  would  bear  him  to  her. 

And  then,  unconsciously,  through  some  ob- 
scure channel  of  memory,  he  was  back  where 
he  had  once  been,  in  a  Gasthof  in  the  Ba- 
varian Mountains.  It  was  not  yet  dusk. 
Through  the  window  came  a  choir  of  birds, 
and  he  could  see  the  tender  asparagus-green 
of  neighborly  trees.  He  was  seated  at  a 
great,  bare  table  of  oak,  and  as  he  raised 
from  it  to  his  lips  a  stone  measure  of  beer, 
his  eyes  rested  on  an  engraving  that  hung 
on  the  wall.  It  represented  a  huntsman, 
galloping  like  mad,  one  steadying  hand  on 
the  bridle  and  the  other  stretched  forward 


Tristrem  Varick.  163 

to  grasp  a  phantom  that  sped  on  before. 
Under  the  picture,  in  quaint  German  text, 
was  the  legend,  The  Chase  after  Happiness. 
"  H'm,"  he  mused,  "  I  don't  see  why  I 
should  think  of  that." 

"  That's  the  gist  of  it  all,"  Jones  was  say- 
ing. "  It's  the  fashion  to  rail  against  critics. 
I  remember  telling  one  of  the  guild  the  other 
day  not  to  read  my  books — they  might  pre- 
judice him  in  my  favor ;  but  in  comparison 
to  certain  publishers  the  average  reviewer 
stands  as  a  misdemeanant  does  to  a  burglar. 
No,  I  have  said  it  before  and  I  say  it  again, 
until  that  copyright  law  is  passed,  the  Gov- 
ernment is  guilty  of  nothing  less  than  com- 
pounding a  felony." 

Of  what  had  gone  before  Tristrem  had  not 
heard  a  single  word,  and  these  ultimate 
phrases  which  reached  him  were  as  mean- 
ingless as  church-steeples.  He  started  as 
one  does  from  a  nap,  with  that  shake  of  the 
head  which  is  peculiar  to  the  absent-minded. 
He  was  standing,  he  discovered,  at  the  en- 
trance to  the  hotel  at  which  he  lodged. 

"  Don't  you  agree  with  me  ?  "  Jones  asked. 
"  Come  and  lunch,  at  the  Casino.  You  will 
get  nothing  here.  Narragansett  cookery  is 


164  Tristrem  Varick. 

as  iniquitous  as  the  legislature.  Besides,  at 
this  hour  they  give  you  dinner.  It  is  tragic, 
on  my  word,  it  is." 

"  Thank  you,"  Tristrem  answered,  elusive- 
ly.  "  I  have  an  appointment  with — with  a 
train."  And  with  this  excuse  he  entered  the 
hotel,  and  as  soon  after  as  was  practicable  he 
returned  to  town. 

It  was,  he  learned,  as  Jones  had  said. 
Mrs.  Raritan  and  Miss  Raritan  were  passen- 
gers on  a  steamer  which  had  sailed  two 
days  before.  It  was  then  Friday.  One  of 
the  swiftest  Cunarders  was  to  sail  the  fol- 
lowing morning,  and  it  seemed  not  improb- 
able to  Tristrem  that  he  might  reach  the 
other  side,  if  not  simultaneously  with,  at 
least  but  a  few  hours  after  the  arrival  of  the 
Wednesday  boat.  Such  preparations,  there- 
fore, as  were  necessary  he  made  without 
delay.  As  incidental  thereto,  he  went  to 
the  house  in  Thirty-ninth  Street.  There  he 
learned,  from  a  squat  little  Irishwoman  who 
came  out  from  the  area  and  eyed  him  with 
unmollifiable  suspicion,  that,  like  the  Narra- 
gansett  cottage,  the  house  was  to  let.  The 
only  address  which  he  could  obtain  from 
her  was  that  of  a  real-estate  agent  in  the 


Tristrem  Varick.  165 

lower  part  of  the  city.  Thither  he  posted 
at  once.  Yet  even  there  the  information 
which  he  gleaned  was  meagre.  The  house 
was  offered  for  a  year.  During  that  period, 
the  agent  understood,  Mrs.  Raritan  pro- 
posed to  complete  her  daughter's  musical 
education  abroad ;  where,  the  agent  did 
not  know.  The  rental  accruing  from  the 
lease  of  the  house  was  to  be  paid  over  to 
the  East  and  West  Trust  Co.  Further  than 
that  he  could  say  nothing.  Thereupon 
Tristrem  trudged  hopefully  to  Wall  Street ; 
but  the  secretary  of  the  East  and  West  was 
vaguer  even  than  the  agent.  He  knew 
nothing  whatever  on  the  subject  of  Mrs. 
Raritan's  whereabouts,  and  from  his  tone  it 
was  apparent  that  he  cared  less.  There  is, 
however,  an  emollient  in  courtesy  which 
has  softened  greater  oafs  than  he,  and  that 
emollient  Tristrem  possessed.  There  was  in 
his  manner  a  penetrating  and  pervasive  re- 
finement, and  at  the  gruffness  with  which 
he  was  received  there  came  to  his  face  an 
expression  of  such  perplexity  that  the  sec- 
retary, disarmed  in  spite  of  himself,  turned 
from  his  busy  idleness  and  told  Tristrem 
that  if  Mrs.  Raritan  had  not  left  her  address 


1 66  Tristrem  Varick. 

with  him  she  must  certainly  have  given 
it  to  the  lawyer  who  held  the  power  of  at- 
torney to  collect  the  rents  and  profits  of 
her  estate.  The  name  of  that  lawyer  was 
Meggs,  and  his  office  was  in  the  Mills  Build- 
ing. 

In  the  Mills  Building  Tristrem's  success 
was  little  better.  Mr.  Meggs,  the  manag- 
ing clerk  announced,  had  left  town  an  hour 
before  and  would  not  return  until  Monday. 
However,  if  there  was  anything  he  could  do, 
he  was  entirely  at  Tristrem's  disposal.  And 
then  Tristrem  explained  his  errand  anew, 
adding  that  he  sailed  on  the  morrow,  and 
that  it  was  important  for  him  to  have  Mrs. 
Raritan's  address  before  he  left.  The  clerk 
regretted,  but  he  did  not  know  it.  Could 
not  Mr.  Meggs  send  it  to  him  ? 

"  He  might  cable  it,  might  he  not  ?  "  Tris- 
trem suggested.  And  as  this  plan  seemed 
feasible,  he  gave  the  clerk  a  card  with  a 
London  address  scrawled  on  it,  and  there- 
with some  coin.  "  I  should  be  extremely  in- 
debted if  you  would  beg  Mr.  Meggs  to  send 
me  the  address  at  once,"  he  added  ;  and 
the  clerk,  who  had  read  the  name  on  the 
card  and  knew  it  to  be  that  of  the  claimant 


Tristrem  Varick  i6j 

and  renouncer  of  a  great  estate,  assured  him 
that  Mr.  Meggs  would  take  great  pleasure 
in  so  doing. 

After  that  there  was  nothing  for  Tristrem 
to  do  but  to  return  to  his  grandfather's 
house  and  complete  his  preparations.  He 
dined  with  Mr.  Van  Norden  that  evening, 
and  a  very  pleasant  dinner  it  was.  To- 
gether they  talked  of  those  matters  and 
memories  that  were  most  congenial  to 
them  ;  Mr.  Van  Norden  looking  steadily  in 
the  past,  and  Tristrem  straight  into  the  fut- 
ure. And  at  last,  at  midnight,  when  the 
carriage  came  to  take  Tristrem  to  the  wharf 
— for  the  ship  was  to  sail  at  so  early  an 
hour  in  the  morning  that  it  was  deemed 
expedient  for  the  passengers  to  sleep  on 
board — as  Tristrem  took  leave  of  his  grand- 
father, "Bring her  back  soon,"  the  old  gen- 
tleman said,  "  bring  her  back  as  soon  as  you 
can.  And,  Tristrem,  you  must  take  this  to 
her  once  more,  with  an  old  man's  love  and 
blessing." 

Whereupon  he  gave  Tristrem  again  the 
diamond  brooch  that  had  belonged  to  his 
daughter. 


1 68  Tristrem  Varick. 


XII. 

THE  journey  over  was  precisely  like  any 
other,  except  in  this,  that,  the  tide  of  travel 
being  in  the  contrary  direction,  the  number 
of  cabin  passengers  was  limited.  Among 
them  there  was  no  one  whom  Tristrem  had 
met  before  ;  yet,  after  the  second  day  out, 
there  were  few  whom  his  appearance  and 
manner  had  not  attracted  and  coerced  into 
some  overture  to  better  acquaintance.  Of 
these  his  attention  was  particularly  claimed 
by  an  Englishman  who  sat  next  to  him  at 
table,  and  a  young  lady  who  occupied  the 
seat  opposite  to  his  own.  In  the  eyes  of 
the  latter  was  the  mischievous  look  of  a 
precocious  boy.  She  was  extremely  pretty  ; 
blonde,  fair,  with  a  mouth  that  said  Kiss  me 
— what  the  French  call  Vifrimousse  frottee  de 
champagne ;  and  her  speech  was  marked  by 
great  vivacity.  She  was  accompanied  by  an 
elderly  person  who  appeared  at  table  but 
once,  and  who  during  the  rest  of  the  voyage 
remained  bundled  in  shawls  in  the  ladies' 
cabin,  where  refreshments  were  presumably 
brought  her. 


Tristrem  Varich.  169 

It  was  rumored  that  this  young  lady  was 
an  ex-star  of  the  Gaiety,  and  more  recently  a 
member  of  a  burlesque  troupe  that  had  dis- 
banded in  the  States.  It  was  added — but 
then,  are  not  ill-natured  things  said  about 
everybody  ?  You,  sir,  and  you,  madam,  who 
happen  to  read  this  page,  have  never,  of 
course,  been  spoken  of  other  than  with  the 
greatest  respect,  but  what  is  said  of  your 
neighbor  ?  and  what  have  you  said  your- 
self? 

Tristrem,  unaffected  by  the  gossip  of  the 
smoking-room,  to  which,  indeed,  he  lent 
but  an  inattentive  ear,  allowed  the  young 
lady  to  march  him  up  and  down  the  deck, 
and,  as  was  his  wont,  permitted  himself  to 
be  generally  made  use  of.  Yet  if  the  eld- 
erly person  in  the  ladies'  cabin  had  exacted 
of  him  similar  attentions,  the  attentions 
would  have  been  rendered  with  the  same 
prompt  and  diligent  willingness.  He  was 
not  a  good  listener,  although  he  seemed 
one,  but  there  was  a  breeziness  in  the 
young  lady's  conversation  which  helped 
him  not  a  little  to  forget  the  discomforts  of 
ocean  travel.  He  walked  with  her,  in  con- 
sequence, mile  after  mile,  and  when  she 


i  jo  Tristrem  Varick. 

wearied  of  that  amusement,  he  got  her  com- 
fortably seated  and,  until  she  needed  him 
again,  passed  the  time  in  the  smoking-room. 

It  was  there  that  he  became  acquainted 
with  the  Englishman  who  sat  next  to  him 
at  table.  His  name,  he  learned,  was  Led- 
yard  Yorke.  He  was  an  artist  by  profes- 
sion, and  in  the  course  of  a  symposium  or 
two  Tristrem  discovered  that  he  was  a  very 
cultivated  fellow  besides.  He  seemed  to  be 
well  on  in  the  thirties,  and  it  was  evident 
that  there  were  few  quarters  of  the  globe 
with  which  he  was  not  familiar.  He  was 
enthusiastic  on  the  subject  of  French  liter- 
ature, but  the  manufactures  of  the  pupils  of 
the  Beaux  Arts  he  professed  to  abominate. 

"  The  last  time  I  was  at  the  Salon,"  he 
said,  one  evening,  "  there  were  in  those  in- 
terminable halls  over  three  thousand  pict- 
ures. Of  these,  there  were  barely  fifty 
worth  looking  at.  The  others  were  inter- 
esting as  colored  lithographs  on  a  dead 
wall.  There  was  a  Manet  or  two,  a  Moreau, 
and  a  dozen  or  more  excellent  landscapes, 
but  the  rest  represented  the  apotheosis  of 
mediocrity.  The  pictures  which  Gerome, 
Cabanel,  Bouguereau,  and  the  acolytes  of 


Tristrem  Varick.  iji 

those  pastry-cooks  exposed  were  stupid  and 
sterile  as  church  doors.  What  is  art,  after 
all,  if  it  be  not  an  imitation  of  nature  ?  To 
my  thinking,  the  greater  the  illusion,  the 
nearer  does  the  counterfeit  approach  the 
model.  And  look  at  the  nymphs  and  dry- 
ads which  those  hair-dressers  present.  In 
the  first  place,  nymphs  and  dryads  are  as 
overdone  as  the  assumption  of  Virgins  and 
the  loves  of  Leda.  Besides  they  were  not 
modern,  but  even  if  they  were,  fancy  a  girl 
who  lives  in  the  open  air  in  her  birthday 
costume,  and  who,  exposed  to  the  sun,  to 
say  nothing  of  the  wind,  still  preserves  the 
pink  and  white  skin  of  a  baby — and  a  skin, 
mind  you,  that  looks  as  though  it  had  been 
polished  and  pinched  by  a  masseur ;  how- 
ever, place  a  dozen  of  them  lolling  in  con- 
ventional attitudes  in  a  glade,  or  represent 
them  bathing  in  a  pond,  and  although  the 
sun  shines  on  them  through  the  foliage,  be 
careful  not  to  get  so  much  as  the  criss-cross 
of  a  shadow  on  their  bodies,  smear  the  whole 
thing  with  cold  cream,  label  one  *  Arcadia,' 
and  the  other  '  Nymphs  surprised,'  and  you 
have  what  they  call  in  France  the  faire 
distinguJ" 


/7-2  Tristrem  Varick. 

There  was  nothing  particularly  new  in 
what  Mr.  Yorke  had  to  say,  and  if,  like  the 
majority  of  men  whose  thoughts  run  in  a 
particular  channel,  he  was  apt  to  be  dog- 
matic in  his  views,  he  yet  possessed  that 
saving  quality,  which  consists  in  treating 
the  subject  in  hand  not  as  were  it  a  matter 
of  life  and  death,  but  rather  as  one  which 
is  as  unimportant  as  the  gout  of  a  distant 
relative.  And  it  was  in  the  companionship 
of  this  gentleman,  and  that  of  the  young  lady 
alluded  to,  that  Tristrem  passed  the  six  days 
which  separated  him  from  the  Irish  coast. 

On  the  day  preceding  the  debarcation  he 
was  in  great  and  expectant  spirits,  but  as  the 
sun  sank  in  the  ocean  his  light-heartedness 
sank  with  it.  During  dinner  his  charming 
vis-a-vis  rallied  him  as  best  she  might,  but 
he  remained  unresponsive,  answering  only 
when  civility  made  it  necessary  for  him  to 
do  so.  It  is  just  possible  that  the  young 
lady  may  have  entertained  original  ideas  of 
her  own  on  the  subject  of  his  taciturnity, 
but,  however  that  may  be,  it  so  happened 
that  before  the  meal  was  done  Tristrem 
went  up  on  deck,  and  seeking  the  stern  of 
the  ship,  leaned  over  the  gunwale. 


Tristrem  Varick. 

So  far  in  the  distance  as  his  eyes  could 
reach  was  a  trail  of  glistening  white.  On 
either  side  were  impenetrable  wastes  of 
black.  In  his  ears  was  the  sob  of  water  dis- 
placed, the  moan  of  tireless  discontent,  and 
therewith  the  flash  and  shimmer  of  phos- 
phorus seemed  to  invite  and  tell  of  realms 
of  enchanted  rest  beneath.  And,  as  Tris- 
trem watched  and  listened,  the  sibilants  of 
the  sea  gurgled  in  sympathy  with  his 
thoughts,  accompanying  and  accentuating 
them  with  murmurs  of  its  own.  Its  breast 
was  bared  to  him,  it  lay  at  his  feet,  open- 
armed  as  though  waiting  his  coming,  and 
conjuring  him  to  haste.  "  There  is  nothing 
sweeter,"  it  seemed  to  say,  "  nothing  swifter, 
and  naught  more  still.  I  feed  my  lovers 
on  lotus  and  Lethe.  There  is  no  fairer 
couch  in  the  world  than  mine.  A  sister's 
kiss  is  not  more  chaste.  I  am  better  than 
fame,  serener  than  hope  ;  I  am  more  than 
love,  I  am  peace.  I  am  unforsakable,  and 
I  never  forsake." 

And  as  the  great  ship  sped  on  in  fright, 
it  almost  seemed  to  Tristrem  that  the  sea, 
like  an  affianced  bride,  was  rising  up  to  claim 
and  take  him  as  her  own.  Many  months 


IJ4  Tristrem  Varick. 

later,  he  thought  of  the  sensation  that  he 
then  experienced,  the  query  that  came  to 
his  mind,  he  knew  not  how  or  whence, 
whether  it  were  not  better  perhaps — and 
then  the  after-shudder  as  he  started  back, 
wondering  could  it  be  that  for  the  moment 
he  was  mad,  and  telling  himself  that  in  a 
few  hours,  a  few  days  at  most,  he  would  be 
with  Her.  And  what  had  the  sea  to  do  with 
him  ?  Many  months  after  he  thought  of  it. 

And  as  he  still  gazed  at  the  tempting 
waters,  he  felt  a  hand  touch  his  own,  rest  on, 
and  nestle  init.  He  looked  around  ;  it  was 
his  charming  vis-a-vis  who  had  sought  him 
out  and  was  now  looking  in  his  face.  She 
did  not  speak  ;  her  eyes  had  lost  their  mis- 
chief, but  her  mouth  framed  its  message  as 
before.  Awkwardly  as  men  do  such  things, 
Tristrem  disengaged  his  hand.  The  girl 
made  one  little  effort  to  detain  it,  and  for  a 
moment  her  lips  moved ;  but  she  said  noth- 
ing, and  when  the  hand  had  gone  from  her, 
she  turned  with  a  toss  of  the  head  and  dis- 
appeared in  the  night. 

Soon  after,  Tristrem  turned,  too,  and 
found  his  way  to  the  smoking-room.  In 
some  way  the  caress  which  he  had  eluded 


Tristrem  Varick.  775 

had  left  a  balm.  He  was  as  hopeful  as  be- 
fore, and  he  smiled  in  silent  amusement  at 
the  ups  and  downs  of  his  needless  fears.  In 
a  corner  of  the  room  was  Yorke. 

"  I  have  been  looking  at  the  sea,"  he  said, 
as  he  took  a  seat  at  his  side  ;  "it  is  captious 
as  wine." 

"You  are  a  poet,  are  you  not?"  Yorke 
spoke  not  as  though  he  were  paying  a  com- 
pliment, but  in  the  matter-of-fact  fashion  in 
which  one  drummer  will  say  "Dry  goods  ?" 
to  another. 

"No  ;  I  wish  I  were.  I  have  never  writ- 
ten." 

"  It's  a  popular  prejudice  to  suppose  that 
a  poet  must  write.  The  greatest  of  all 
never  put  pen  to  paper.  What  is  there  left 
to  us  of  Linus  and  Musaeus  ?  Siddartha 
did  not  write,  Valmiki  did  not  know  how. 
The  parables  of  the  Christ  were  voiced,  not 
written.  Besides,  the  poet  feels — he  does 
not  spend  a  year,  like  MallarmS,  in  polishing 
a  sonnet.  De  Musset  is  certainly  the  best 
example  of  the  poet  that  France  has  to  of- 
fer ;  with  him  you  always  catch  the  foot- 
fall of  the  Muse — you  feel,  as  he  felt,  the  in- 
spiration. And  all  the  more  clearly  in  that 


176  Tristrem  Varick. 

his  verses  limp.  He  never  would  have 
had  time  to  express  himself  if  he  had  tried 
to  sand-paper  his  thoughts.  Don't  you  sup- 
pose that  Murillo  was  a  poet  ?  Don't  you 
suppose  that  Guido  was  ?  Don't  you  think 
that  anyone  who  is  in  love  with  beauty  must 
be  ?  I  say  beauty  where  I  might  say  the 
ideal.  That  is  the  reason  I  thought  you  a 
poet.  You  have  in  your  face  that  constant 
preoccupation  which  is  distinctive  of  those 
who  pursue  the  intangible." 

"  I  am  not  pursuing  the  intangible, 
though,"  Tristrem  answered,  with  a  little 
sententious  nod. 

"  Ah,  who  shall  say  ?  We  all  do.  I  am 
pursuing  it  myself,  though  not  in  the  sense 
that  I  attribute  to  you.  Did  you  ever  read 
Flaubert's  Tentatwn?  No?  Well,  fancy 
the  Sphinx  crouching  at  sunset  in  the  en- 
croaching sand.  In  the  background  is  a 
riot  of  color,  and  overhead  a  tender  blue 
fading  into  salmon  and  the  discreetest  gray. 
Then  add  to  that  the  impression  of  solitude 
and  the  most  absolute  silence.  In  the  fore- 
ground flutters  a  Chimera,  a  bird  with  a 
dragon's  tail  and  the  rainbow  wings  of  a 
giant  butterfly.  The  Sphinx  is  staring  at 


Tristrem  Yarick.  777 

you,  and  yet  through  and  beyond,  as  though 
her  eyes  rested  on  some  inaccessible  hori- 
zon. Cities  crumble,  nations  rise  and  sub- 
side, and  still  that  undeviating  stare  !  And 
in  her  face  the  unroutable  calm  of  fabulous 
beauty.  I  want  those  eyes,  I  want  that 
face.  You  never  heard  the  duo  which 
Flaubert  gives,  did  you  ?  It  runs  somewhat 
this  way  :  The  motionless  Sphinx  calls  : 
'  Here,  Chimera,  rest  a  while.' 

"  The  Chimera  answers  :  '  Rest  ?     Not  I.' 

"  The  Sphinx.  Whither  goest  thou  in  such 
haste  ? 

"  The  Chimera.  I  gallop  in  the  corridors  of 
the  labyrinth.  I  soar  to  the  mountain-tops. 
I  skim  the  waves.  I  yelp  at  the  foot  of  preci- 
pices. I  cling  to  the  skirt  of  clouds.  With 
my  training  tail  I  sweep  the  shores.  The 
hills  have  taken  their  curve  from  the  form 
of  my  shoulders.  But  thou — I  find  thee 
perpetually  immobile,  or  else  with  the  end 
of  thy  claw  drawing  alphabets  in  the  sand. 

"  The  Sphinx.  I  am  guarding  my  secret,  I 
calculate  and  I  dream. 

"  The  Chimera.  I — I  am  joyous  and  light 
of  heart.  I  discover  to  man  resplendent  per- 
spectives, Utopias  in  the  skies,  and  distant 

12 


178  Tristrem  Vaiich. 

felicities.  Into  his  soul  I  pour  the  eternal 
follies,  projects  of  happiness,  plans  for  the 
future,  dreams  of  fame,  and  the  vows  of 
love  and  virtuous  resolutions.  I  incite  to 
perilous  journeys,  to  great  undertakings. 
It  is  I  that  chiselled  the  marvels  of  archi- 
tecture. It  is  I  that  hung  bells  on  the  tomb 
of  Porsenna,  and  surrounded  with  an 
orchalc  wall  the  quays  of  the  Atlantides. 
I  seek  new  perfumes,  larger  flowers,  and 
pleasures  unenjoyed.  If  anywhere  I  per- 
ceive a  man  whose  mind  rests  in  wisdom, 
I  drop  from  space  and  strangle  him. 

"  The  Sphinx.  All  those  whom  the  desire 
of  God  torments,  I  have  devoured." 

Yorke  had  repeated  these  snatches  from 
the  duo  in  French.  He  had  repeated  them 
well,  bringing  out  the  harmony  of  the 
words  in  a  manner  which  in  our  harsher 
tongue  would  have  been  impossible.  And 
now  he  felt  parched,  and  ordered  some 
drink  of  the  steward. 

"It  is  the  face  of  that  Sphinx  that  I 
want,"  he  continued.  "  If  I  were  a  com- 
poser I  would  put  the  duo  itself  to  music. 
I  know  of  no  prose  more  admirable.  I  have 
the  scene  on  canvas,  all  of  it,  that  is,  except 


Tristrem  Varick.  779 

the  Sphinx's  face,  and  that,  of  course,  is  the 
most  important.  I  want  a  face  that  she 
alone  could  possess.  I  may  find  it,  I  may 
not.  At  all  events,  you  see  that  just  at 
present  I  too  am  in  pursuit  of  the  intan- 
gible. But  there,  tell  me  of  the  artist  who 
is  not.  It  is  true,  you  go  to  the  Academy, 
and  in  the  Cleopatras  and  Psyches  you 
recognize  the  same  Mary  Jane  who  the  day 
before  offered  herself  as  model  to  you.  My 
Sphinx,  however,  was  not  born  in  Clap- 
ham.  Nor  does  she  dwell  in  Pimlico.  But, 
apropos  to  Pimlico,  I  have  a  fancy  that 
that  little  friend  of  yours  is  on  her  way  to 
St.  John's  Wood." 

"  What  little  friend  ?  " 

"Why,  the  girl  that  sits  opposite.  And 
what's  more  to  the  point,  she's  in  love  with 
you.  Tous  mes  compliments  >  c'est  un  vrai 
morceau  de  roi" 

At  this  Tristrem  blushed  in  spite  of  him- 
self. She  might  have  been  the  Helen  for 
whom  the  war  of  the  world  was  fought  ; 
she  might  have  been  Mylitta  or  Venus 
Basilea,  and  still  would  she  have  left  him 
unimpressed.  He  would  not  have  recog- 
nized the  divinity — he  bowed  but  to  one. 


180  Tristrem  Varich. 

"  You  remind  me,"  said  Yorke,  who  had 
watched  his  expression — "you  remind  me  of 
De  Marsay,  who  did  not  know  what  he  did 
to  the  women  to  make  them  all  fall  in  love 
with  him.  There  is  nothing  as  fetching  as 
that.  And  there  is  nothing,  at  least  to  my 
thinking,  that  compares  with  that  charm 
which  a  woman  in  love  exhales  to  her 
lover.  It  is  small  matter  whether  the  wom- 
an is  the  daughter  of  an  earl  or  whether 
she  is  a  cocotte.  There  are,  I  know,  people 
who  like  their  claret  in  decanters,  but  so 
long  as  the  wine  is  good,  what  does  the 
bottle  matter  ? 

"  'Aimer  est  le  grand  point,  qu*  importe  la  maitresse  ? 
Qu'  importe  le  flacon,  pourvu  qu'on  ait  1'ivresse  ?'  " 

"De  Musset  was  drunk  when  he  wrote 
that,"  said  Tristrem.  "  But  whether  he  was 
drunk  or  sober,  I  don't  agree  with  him.  I 
don't  agree  with  him  at  all.  It  is  the  speech 
of  a  man  who  can  think  himself  in  love 
over  and  over  again,  and  who  discovers  in 
the  end  that  through  all  his  affairs  he  has 
loved  no  one  but  himself." 

All  of  which  Mr.  Yorke  pooh-poohed  in 
the  civilest  manner,  and  when  Tristrem  had 


Tristrem  Varick.  181 

finished  his  little  speech,  expounded  the 
principles  of  love  as  they  are  formulated  in 
the  works  of  a  German  metaphysician,  sup- 
porting them  as  he  did  so  with  such  clarity 
and  force  of  argument  that  Tristrem,  van- 
quished but  unconvinced,  left  him  in  dis- 
gust. 

The  next  day  they  were  at  Liverpool.  In 
the  confusion  that  is  incidental  to  every 
debarcation  Tristrem  had  had  no  opportu- 
nity of  exchanging  a  word  with  his  vis-a-vis. 
But  in  the  custom-house  he  caught  sight  of 
her,  and  went  forward  to  bid  her  good-bye. 

"  Good-bye,"  she  answered,  when  he  had 
done  so,  and  putting  out  her  hand,  she 
looked  at  him  with  mischievous  eyes. 
"  Good-bye,"  she  repeated,  lightly,  and  then, 
between  her  teeth,  she  added,  "Imbecile 
that  you  are  !  " 

Though  what  she  may  have  meant  by  that, 
Tristrem  never  understood. 


XIII. 

IT  was  under  cover  of  a  fog  of  leprous 
brown  striated  with  ochre  and  acrid  with 
smoke  that  Tristrem  entered  London.  In 


1 82  Tristrem  Varick. 

allusion  to  that  most  delightful  of  cities, 
someone  has  said  somewhere  that  heli  must 
be  just  such  another  place.  If  the  epi- 
grammatist be  right,  then  indeed  is  it  time 
that  the  rehabilitation  of  the  lower  regions 
began.  London  is  subtle  and  cruel,  per- 
haps, and  to  the  meditative  traveller  it  not 
infrequently  appears  like  an  invocation  to 
suicide  writ  in  stone.  But  whoso  has  once 
accustomed  himself  to  its  breath  may  live 
ever  after  in  flowerful  Arcadias  and  yet 
dream  of  its  exhalations  with  regret.  In 
Venice  one  may  coquette  with  phantoms  ; 
Rome  has  ghosts  and  memories  of  her  own  ; 
in  Paris  there  is  a  sparkle  that  is  headier 
than  absinthe  ;  Berlin  resounds  so  well  to 
the  beat  of  drums  that  even  the  pusillani- 
mous are  brave  ;  but  London  is  the  great 
enchantress.  It  is  London  alone  that  holds 
the  secret  of  inspiring  love  and  hatred  as 
well. 

Tristrem  sniffed  the  fog  with  a  sensation 
of  that  morbid  pleasure  which  girls  in  their 
teens  and  women  in  travail  experience 
when  they  crave  and  obtain  repulsive  food. 
Had  he  not  hungered  for  it  himself  ?  and 
did  she  not  breathe  it  too  ? 


Tristrem  Varick.  183 

The  journey  from  Euston  Square  to  the 
hotel  in  Jermyn  Street  at  which  he  proposed 
to  put  up,  was  to  him  a  confusion  of  im- 
patience and  anticipation.  He  was  sure  of 
finding  a  cablegram  from  Mrs.  Raritan's 
attorney,  and  was  it  not  possible  that 
he  might  see  Viola  that  very  night  ?  In 
Jermyn  Street,  however,  no  message  awaited 
him.  Under  the  diligent  supervision  of  a 
waiter  who  had  the  look  and  presence  of  a 
bishop  he  managed  later  to  eat  some  din- 
ner. But  the  evening  was  a  blank  :  he 
passed  it  twirling  his  thumbs,  dumbly  irri- 
tated, incapable  of  action,  and  perplexed  as 
he  had  never  been  before. 

The  next  morning  his  Odyssey  began. 
He  cabled  to  Mr.  Meggs,  and  saw  the  clerk 
put  beneath  the  message  the  cabalistic  let- 
ters A.  P.  And  then,  in  an  attempt  to 
frighten  Time,  he  had  his  measure  taken  in 
Saville  Row  and  his  hair  cut  in  Bond 
Street.  But  in  vain — the  day  dragged  as 
though  its  wheels  were  clogged.  By  noon 
he  had  exhausted  every  possible  resource. 
Another,  perhaps,  might  have  beguiled  the 
tedium  with  drink,  or  cultivated  what 
Balzac  has  called  the  gastronomy  of  the 


184  Tristrem  Varick. 

eye,  and  which  consists  in  idling  in  the 
streets.  But  unfortunately  for  Tristrem, 
he  was  none  other  than  himself.  The  mere 
smell  of  liquor  was  distasteful  to  him,  and 
he  was  too  nervous  to  be  actively  inac- 
tive. Moreover,  as  in  September  there  are 
never  more  than  four  million  people  in 
London,  his  chance  of  encountering  an  ac- 
quaintance was  slight.  Those  that  he 
possessed  were  among  the  absent  ten 
thousand.  They  were  in  the  country, 
among  the  mountains,  at  the  seaside,  on 
the  Continent — anywhere,  in  fact,  except  in 
the  neighborhood  of  Pall  Mall.  And  even 
had  it  been  otherwise,  Tristrem  was  not  in 
a  mood  to  suffer  entertainment.  He  had 
not  the  slightest  wish  to  be  amused.  Wag- 
ner might  have  come  to  Covent  Garden 
from  the  grave  to  conduct  Parsifal  in  per- 
son and  Tristrem  would  not  have  so  much  as 
bought  a  stall.  He  wanted  Miss  Raritan's 
address,  and  until  he  got  it  a  comet  that 
bridged  the  horizon  would  have  left  him 
incurious  as  the  dead. 

On  the  morrow,  with  his  coffee,  there 
came  to  him  a  yellow  envelope.  The  mes- 
sage was  brief,  though  not  precisely  to  the 


Tristrem  l^arick.  185 

point.  "  Uninformed  of  Mrs.  Raritaris  ad- 
dress" it  ran,  and  the  signature  was 
Meggs. 

For  the  first  time  it  occurred  to  Tristrem 
that  Fate  was  conspiring  against  him.  It 
had  been  idiocy  on  his  part  to  leave  New 
York  before  he  had  obtained  the  address ; 
and  now  that  he  was  in  London,  it  would 
be  irrational  to  write  to  any  of  her  friends — 
the  Wainwarings,  for  instance — and  hope  to 
get  it.  He  knew  the  Wainwarings  just  well 
enough  to  attend  a  reception  if  they  gave 
one,  and  a  slighter  acquaintance  than  that 
it  were  idle  to  describe. 

Other  friends  the  girl  had  in  plenty,  but 
to  Tristrem  they  were  little  more  than  shad- 
ows. There  seemed  to  be  no  one  to  whom 
he  could  turn.  Indeed  he  was  sorely  per- 
plexed. Since  the  hour  in  which  he  learned 
that  his  father  and  Viola's  were  not  the  same 
he  had  been  possessed  of  but  one  thought — 
to  see  her  and  kneel  at  her  feet  ;  and  in 
the  haste  he  had  not  shown  the  slightest 
forethought — he  had  been  too  feverishly 
energetic  to  so  much  as  wait  till  he  got  her 
address  ;  and  now  in  the  helter-skelter  he 
had  run  into  a  cul-de-sac  where  he  could 


1 86  Tristrem  Varich. 

absolutely  do  nothing  except  sit  and  bite 
his  thumb.  The  enforced  inactivity  was  tor- 
turesome  as  suspense.  In  his  restlessness 
he  determined  to  retrace  his  steps ;  he 
would  return  to  New  York,  he  told  himself, 
learn  of  her  whereabouts,  and  start  afresh. 
Already  he  began  to  calculate  the  number 
of  days  which  that  course  of  action  would 
necessitate,  and  then  suddenly,  as  he  saw 
himself  once  more  on  Fifth  Avenue,  he  be- 
thought him  of  Alphabet  Jones.  What 
man  was  there  that  commanded  larger 
sources  of  social  information  than  he  ?  He 
would  cable  to  him  at  once,  and  on  the  mor- 
row he  would  have  the  address. 

The  morrow  dawned,  and  succeeding 
morrows — a  week  went  by,  and  still  no  word 
from  Jones.  A  second  week  passed,  and 
when  a  third  was  drawing  to  a  close  and 
Tristrem,  outwearied  and  enervated,  had 
secured  a  berth  on  a  returning  steamer,  at 
last  the  answer  came — an  answer  in  four 
words — "Brown  Shipley,  Founders  Court." 
That  was  all,  but  to  Tristrem,  in  his  over- 
wrought condition,  they  were  as  barbs  of 
flame.  "  My  own  bankers  !  "  he  cried  ;  "  oh, 
thrice  triple  fool !  why  did  I  not  think  of 


Tristrem  Varick.  187 

them  before  ?  "  He  was  so  annoyed  at  his 
stupidity  that  on  his  way  to  the  city  his 
irritation  counterbalanced  the  satisfaction 
which  the  message  brought.  "  Three  whole 
weeks  have  I  waited,"  he  kept  telling  him- 
self— "  three  whole  weeks  !  H'm  !  Jones 
might  better  have  written.  No,  I  might 
better  have  shown  some  common-sense. 
Three  whole  weeks  !  " 

He  was  out  of  the  cab  before  it  had  fairly 
stopped,  and  breathless  when  he  reached  the 
desk  of  the  clerk  whose  duty  it  was  to  re- 
ceive and  forward  the  letters  of  those  who 
banked  with  the  house. 

"  I  want  Mrs.  Raritan's  address,"  he  said 
— "  Mrs.  R.  F.  Raritan,  please." 

The  clerk  fumbled  a  moment  over  some 
papers.  "  Care  of  Munroe,  Rue  Scribe,"  he 
answered. 

"Thank  God!"  Tristrem  exclaimed ;  "and 
thank  you.  Send  my  letters  there  also." 

That  evening  he  started  for  Paris,  and  the 
next  morning  he  was  asking  in  the  Rue 
Scribe  the  same  question  which  he  had 
asked  the  previous  afternoon  in  Founders' 
Court.  There  he  learned  that  Mrs.  Raritan 
had  sent  word,  the  day  before,  that  all  letters 


1 88  Tristrem  Varick. 

should  be  held  for  her  until  further  notice. 
She  had  been  stopping  with  her  daughter 
at  the  Hotel  du  Rhin,  but  whether  or  not 
she  was  still  there  the  clerk  did  not  know. 
The  Rue  Scribe  is  not  far  from  the  Place 
Vendome,  in  which  the  Hotel  du  Rhin  is 
situated,  and  it  took  Tristrem  a  little  less 
than  five  minutes  to  get  there.  The  con- 
cierge was  lounging  in  her  cubby-hole. 
"  Madame  Raritan  ?  "  Tristrem  began. 
"  Par  tie,  iri  sieu,  partie  d'puis  hier — " 
And  then  from  Tristrem  new  ques- 
tions came  thick  and  fast.  The  concierge, 
encouraged  by  what  is  known  as  a  white 
piece,  and  of  which  the  value  is  five  francs 
in  current  coin,  became  very  communica- 
tive. Disentangled  from  layers  of  voluble 
digression,  the  kernel  of  her  information 
amounted  to  this  :  Mrs.  Raritan  and  her 
daughter  had  taken  the  Orient  Express  the 
day  before.  On  the  subject  of  their  desti- 
nation she  declared  herself  ignorant.  Sup- 
positions she  had  in  plenty,  but  actual 
knowledge  none,  and  she  took  evident 
pleasure  in  losing  herself  in  extravagant 
conjectures.  "  Bien  le  bonjour"  she  said 
when  Tristrem,  passably  disheartened, 


Tristrem  Varich.  189 

turned   to  leave — "  Bien  le  bonjour,  m'sieu; 
si  fose  m'exprimer  ainsi" 

The  Orient  Express,  as  Tristrem  knew, 
goes  through  Southern  Germany  into  Aus- 
tria, thence  down  to  Buda-Pest  and  on 
to  Constantinople.  That  Viola  and  her 
mother  had  any  intention  of  going  farther 
than  Vienna  was  a  thing  which  he  declined 
to  consider.  On  the  way  to  Vienna  was 
Stuttgart  and  Munich.  In  Munich  there 
was  Wagner  every  other  night.  In  Stutt- 
gart there  was  a  conservatory  of  music,  and 
at  Vienna  was  not  the  Opera  world-re- 
nowned ?  "  They  have  gone  to  one  of  those 
three  cities,"  he  told  himself.  "Viola  must 
have  determined  to  relinquish  the  Italian 
school  for  the  German.  H'm,"  he  mused, 
"  I'll  soon  put  a  stop  to  that.  As  to  finding 
her,  all  I  have  to  do  is  go  to  the  police. 
They  keep  an  eye  on  strangers  to  some 
purpose.  Let  me  see — I  can  get  to  Stutt- 
gart by  to-morrow  noon.  If  she  is  not  there 
I  will  go  to  Munich.  I  rather  like  the  idea 
of  a  stroll  on  the  Maximilien  Strasse.  It 
would  be  odd  if  I  met  her  in  the  street. 
Well,  if  she  isn't  in  Munich  she  is  sure 
to  be  in  Vienna."  And  as  he  entered  the 


i  go  Tristrem  Varich. 

Grand    Hotel   he  smiled   anew  in   dreams 
forecast. 

Tristrem  carried  out  his  programme  to 
the  end.  But  not  in  Stuttgart,  not  in  Mu- 
nich, nor  in  Vienna  either,  could  he  obtain 
the  slightest  intelligence  of  her.  In  the 
latter  city  he  was  overtaken  by  a  low  fever, 
which  detained  him  for  a  month,  and  from 
which  he  arose  enfeebled  but  with  clearer 
mind.  He  wrote  to  Viola  two  letters,  and 
two  also  to  her  mother.  One  of  each  he 
sent  to  the  Rue  Scribe,  the  others  to  Foun- 
ders' Court.  When  ten  days  went  by,  and 
no  answer  came,  he  understood  for  the 
first  time  what  the  fable  of  Tantalus  might 
mean,  and  that  of  Sisyphus  too.  He  wrote 
at  length  to  his  grandfather,  describing  his 
Odyssey,  his  perplexities,  and  asking  ad- 
vice. He  even  wrote  to  Jones — though 
much  more  guardedly,  of  course — thanking 
him  for  his  cable,  and  inquiring  in  a  post- 
scriptum  whether  he  had  heard  anything 
further  on  the  subject  of  the  Raritans' 
whereabouts.  These  letters  were  barely 
despatched  when  he  was  visited  by  a  lumi- 
nous thought.  The  idea  that  Viola  intend- 
ed to  relinquish  Italian  music  for  that  of 


Tristrem  Varick.  191 

Wagner  had  never  seemed  to  him  other 
than  an  incongruity.  "  Idiot  that  I  am  !  " 
he  exclaimed  ;  "she  came  abroad  to  study 
at  Milan,  and  there  is  where  she  is.  She 
must  have  left  the  Orient  Express  at  Mu- 
nich and  gone  straight  down  through  the 
Tyrol."  And  in  the  visitation  of  this  com- 
forting thought  Tantalus  and  Sisyphus  went 
back  into  the  night  from  which  they  had 
come  ;  in  their  place  came  again  the  blue- 
eyed  divinity  whose  name  is  Hope. 

It  is  not  an  easy  journey,  nor  a  comfort- 
able one,  from  Vienna  to  Milan,  but  Hope 
aiding,  it  can  be  accomplished  without  loss 
of  life  or  reason.  And  Hope  aided  Tris- 
trem to  his  destination,  and  there  disap- 
peared. In  all  Milan  no  intelligence  of 
Viola  could  be  obtained.  He  wrote  again 
to  her.  The  result  was  the  same.  "  I  am 
as  one  accursed,"  he  thought,  and  that 
night  he  saw  himself  in  dream  stopping 
passers  in  the  street,  asking  them  with 
lifted  hat  had  they  seen  a  girl  wonderfully 
fair,  with  amber  eyes.  He  asked  the  ques- 
tion in  French,  in  German,  in  Italian,  ac- 
cording to  the  nationality  of  those  he  en- 
countered, and  once,  to  a  little  old  woman, 


1 92  Tristrem  Varich. 

he  spoke  in  a  jargon  of  his  own  invention. 
But  she  laughed,  and  seemed  to  understand, 
and  gave  him  the  address  of  a  lupanar. 

He  idled  awhile  in  Milan,  and  then 
went  to  Florence,  and  to  Rome,  and  to 
Naples,  crossing  over,  even,  to  Palermo  ; 
and  then  retracing  his  steps,  he  visited  the 
smaller  cities  and  outlying,  unfrequented 
towns.  Something  there  was  which  kept 
telling  him  that  she  was  near  .at  hand, 
waiting,  like  the  enchanted  princess,  for  his 
coming.  And  he  hunted  and  searched, 
outwearied  at  times,  and  refreshed  again  by 
resuscitations  of  hope,  and  intussusceptions 
of  her  presence.  But  in  the  search  his 
nights  were  white.  It  was  rare  for  him  to 
get  any  sleep  before  the  dawn  had  come. 

Early  in  spring  he  reached  Milan  again. 
He  had  written  from  Bergamo  to  the  Rue 
Scribe,  asking  that  his  letters  should  be 
forwarded  to  that  place,  and  among  the 
communications  that  were  given  him  on  his 
arrival  was  a  cablegram  from  New  York. 
Come  back,  it  ran  ;  she  is  here.  It  was  from 
his  grandfather,  Dirck  Van  Norden,  and  as 
Tristrem  read  it  he  trembled  from  head  to 
foot.  It  was  on  a  Tuesday  that  this  oc- 


Tristrem  V (trick. 

curred,  and  he  reflected  that  he  would  just 
about  be  able  to  get  to  Havre  in  time  for 
the  Saturday  steamer.  An  hour  later  he 
was  in  the  train  bound  for  Desenzano,  from 
which  place  he  proposed  to  go  by  boat  to 
Riva,  and  thence  up  to  Munich,  where  he 
could  catch  the  Orient  Express  on  its  re- 
turning trip  to  France. 

XIV. 

WHEN  the  boat  entered  the  harbor  it  was 
already  night.  Tristrem  was  tired,  but  his 
fatigue  was  pleasant  to  him.  His  Odyssey 
was  done.  New  York,  it  is  true,  was  many 
days  away,  but  he  was  no  longer  to  wander 
feverishly  from  town  to  town.  If  he  was 
weary,  at  least  his  mind  was  at  rest.  Riva 
is  on  the  Austrian  frontier,  and  while  the 
luggage  was  being  examined  Tristrem 
hummed  contentedly  to  himself.  He  would 
get  some  dinner  at  the  hotel,  for  he  was 
hungry  as  he  had  not  been  in  months.  At 
last  he  would  have  a  good  night's  rest ; 
there  would  be  no  insomnia  now.  In  the 
magic  of  a  cablegram  that  succube  had 
been  exorcised  forever.  On  the  morrow 
13 


Tristrem  Varick. 

he  would  start  afresh,  and  neither  stop  nor 
stay  till  the  goal  was  reached.  It  was  no 
longer  vague  and  intangible — it  was  full  in 
sight.  And  so,  while  the  officers  were  busy 
with  his  traps,  he  hummed  the  unforgotten 
air,  O  Mag ali,  ma  bien  aim&e. 

The  hotel  to  which  he  presently  had  him- 
self conveyed  stands  in  a  large  garden  that 
leans  to  the  lake.  It  is  a  roomy  structure, 
built  quadrangularwise.  On  one  side  is  a 
little  chalet.  Above,  to  the  right  and  left, 
precipitous  cliffs  and  trellised  mountains 
loom  like  battlements  of  Titan  homes.  The 
air  is  very  sweet,  and  at  that  season  of  the 
year  almost  overweighted  with  the  scent  of 
flowers.  In  spite  of  the  night,  the  sky  was 
visibly  blue,  and  high  up  in  the  heavens  the 
moon  glittered  with  the  glint  of  sulphur. 

As  the  carriage  drew  up  at  the  door 
there  was  a  clang  of  bells  ;  an  individual  in 
a  costume  that  was  brilliant  as  the  uniform 
of  a  field-officer  hastened  to  greet  the  guest ; 
at  the  threshold  was  the  Oberkellner ;  a  few 
steps  behind  him  the  manager  stood  bowing 
persuasively  ;  and  as  Tristrem  entered,  the 
waiters,  hastily  marshalled,  ranged  them- 
selves on  either  side  of  the  hail. 


Tristrem  Varich.  195 

"Vorrei,"  Tristrem  began,  and  then  re- 
membering that  he  was  no  longer  in  Italy, 
continued  in  German. 

The  answer  came  in  the  promptest  Eng- 
lish. 

"  Yes,  my  lord  ;  will  your  lordship  dine 
at  table  d'hdte?  Du,  Konrad,  schnell,  die 
Speise-karte." 

Tristrem  examined  the  bill  of  fare  which 
was  then  brought  him,  and  while  he  studied 
the  contents  he  heard  himself  called  by 
name.  He  looked  up,  and  recognized  Led- 
yard  Yorke,  his  companion  of  months  be- 
fore on  the  outward-bound  Cunarder,  who 
welcomed  him  with  much  warmth  and  cor- 
diality. 

"  And  whatever  became  of  Miss  Tippity- 
fitchet  ?  You  don't  mean  to  say  you  did 
not  see  her  again  ?  Fancy  that !  It  was 
through  no  fault  of  hers,  then.  But  there, 
in  spite  of  your  promise,  you  didn't  so 
much  as  look  me  up.  I  am  just  in  from  a 
tramp  to  Mori  ;  suppose  we  brush  up  a  bit 
and  have  dinner  together  ?  "  He  turned  to 
the  waiter.  "  Konrad,  wir  speisen  draus- 
sen  ;  verschaffen  Sie  'was  Monkenkloster." 

"  Zu  Befehl,  Herr  Baron." 


ig6  Tristrem  Varick. 

Half  an  hour  later,  when  the  brushing 
up  was  done  and  the  Monkenkloster  was 
uncorked,  Tristrem  and  Yorke  seated  them- 
selves in  an  arbor  that  overhung  the  lake. 

"  It's  ever  so  much  better  here  than  at 
table  tfhote"  Yorke  began.  "I  hate  that 
sort  of  business — don't  you  ?  I  have  been 
here  over  two  months,  but  after  a  week 
or  so  of  it  I  gave  up  promiscuous  feeding. 
Since  then,  whenever  I  have  been  able,  I 
have  dined  out  here.  I  don't  care  to  have 
every  dish  I  eat  seasoned  with  the  twaddle 
of  cheap-trippers.  To  be  sure,  few  of  them 
get  here.  Riva  is  well  out  of  the  beaten 
track.  But  one  table  d'hdte  is  just  like  an- 
other, and  they  are  all  of  them  wearying  to 
the  spirit  and  fatiguing  to  digestion.  Look 
at  that  water,  will  you.  It's  almost  Venice, 
isn't  it  ?  I  can  tell  you,  I  have  done  some 
good  work  in  this  place.  But  what  have 
you  been  doing  yourself?" 

"  Nothing  to  speak  of,"  Tristrem  an- 
swered. "  I  have  been  roaming  from  pillar 
to  post.  It's  the  second  time  I  have  been 
over  the  Continent,  and  now  I  am  on  my 
way  home.  I  am  tired  of  it ;  I  shall  be  glad 
to  be  back." 


Tristrem  Varich.  197 

*'  Yes,  you  were  the  last  person  I  expected 
to  meet.  If  I  remember  rightly,  you  said 
on  the  steamer  that  you  were  to  be  on  this 
side  but  a  short  time.  It's  always  the  unex- 
pected that  occurs,  isn't  it  ?  By  the  way,  I 
have  got  my  sphinx." 

"  What  sphinx  ?  " 

"  I  thought  I  told  you.  I  have  been  look- 
ing for  years  for  a  certain  face.  I  wanted 
one  that  I  could  give  to  a  sphinx.  The  ac- 
cessories were  nothing.  I  put  them  on  can- 
vas long  ago,  but  the  face  I  never  could 
grasp.  Not  one  of  all  that  I  tried  suited 
me.  I  had  almost  given  it  up  ;  but  I  got 
it—I  got  it  at  last.  I'll  show  it  to  you  to- 
morrow." 

"  I  am  afraid You  see,  I  leave  very 

early." 

"  I'll  show  it  to  you  to-night,  then  ;  you 
must  see  it.  If  I  had  had  it  made  to  order 
it  could  not  suit  me  better.  It  came  about 
in  such  an  odd  way.  All  winter  I  have  been 
at  work  in  Munich.  I  intended  to  remain 
until  June,  but  the  spring  there  is  bleaker 
than  your  own  New  England.  One  morn- 
ing I  said  to  myself,  Why  not  take  a  run 
down  to  Italy  ?  Two  days  later,  I  was  on  my 


Tristrem  Varick. 

way.  But  at  Mori,  instead  of  pushing 
straight  on  to  Verona,  I  drove  over  here, 
thinking  it  would  be  pleasanter  to  take  the 
boat.  I  arrived  here  at  midnight.  The 
next  morning  I  looked  out  of  the  window, 
and  there,  right  in  front  of  me,  in  that  chalet, 
was  my  sphinx.  Well,  the  upshot  of  it  was, 
I  have  been  here  ever  since.  I  repainted 
the  entire  picture — the  old  one  wasn't  good 
enough." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  it  very  much,"  said 
Tristrem,  less  from  interest  than  civility. 

"  I  wish  you  had  come  in  time  to  see  the 
original.  She  never  suspected  that  she  had 
posed  as  a  model,  and  though  her  window 
was  just  opposite  mine,  I  believe  she  did 
not  so  much  as  pay  me  the  compliment  of 
being  aware  of  my  existence.  There  were 
days  when  she  sat  hour  after  hour  looking 
out  at  the  lake,  almost  motionless,  in  the 
very  attitude  that  I  wanted.  It  was  just  as 
though  she  were  repeating  the  phrase  that 
Flaubert  puts  in  the  Sphinx's  mouth,  *I 
am  guarding  my  secret — I  calculate  and  I 
dream.'  Wasn't  it  odd,  after  all,  that  I 
should  have  found  her  in  that  haphazard 
way?" 


Tristrem  Varick.  199 

"  It  was  odd,"  Tristrem  answered  ;  "  who 
was  she  ?" 

"I  don't  know.  French,  I  fancy.  Her 
name  was  Dupont,  or  Duflot — something  ut- 
terly bourgeois.  There  was  an  old  lady  with 
her,  her  mother,  I  suppose.  I  remember,  at 
table  d'hote  one  evening,  a  Russian  woman, 
with  an  'itch'  in  her  name,  said  she  did  not 
think  she  was  comme  il  faut.  'She  is 
comme  il  m'en  faut,'  I  answered,  and  men- 
tally I  added,  'which  is  a  deuced  sight  more 
than  I  can  say  of  you,  who  are  comme  il 
n'en  faut  pas.'  The  Russian  woman  was 
indignant  at  her,  I  presume,  because  she 
did  not  come  to  the  public  table.  You  know 
that  feeling,  '  If  it's  good  enough  for  me, 
it's  good  enough  for  you.'  But  my  sphinx 
not  only  did  not  appear  at  table  d'hfite,  she 
did  not  put  her  foot  outside  of  the  chalet. 
One  bright  morning  she  disappeared  from 
the  window,  and  a  few  days  later  I  heard 
that  she  had  been  confined.  Shortly  after 
she  went  away.  It  did  not  matter,  though, 
I  had  her  face.  Let  me  give  you  another 
glass  of  Monkenkloster." 

"  She  was  married,  then  ? " 

"Yes,  her  husband  was  probably  some 


2oo  Tristrem  Varick, 

brute  that  did  not  know  how  to  appreciate 
her.  I  don't  mean,  though,  that  she  looked 
unhappy.  She  looked  impassible,  she  looked 
exactly  the  way  I  wanted  to  have  her  look. 
If  you  have  finished  your  coffee,  come  up  to 
my  little  atelier.  I  wish  you  could  see  the 
picture  by  daylight,  but  you  may  be  able  to 
get  an  idea  of  it  from  the  candles."  And 
as  Mr.  Yorke  led  the  way,  he  added,  confi- 
dentially, "  I  should  really  like  to  have  your 
opinion." 

The  atelier  to  which  Yorke  had  alluded 
as  "  little  "  was,  so  well  as  Tristrem  could 
discern  in  the  darkness,  rather  spacious 
than  otherwise.  He  loitered  in  the  door- 
way until  his  companion  had  lighted  and 
arranged  the  candles,  and  then,  under  his 
guidance,  went  forward  to  admire.  The 
picture,  which  stood  on  an  easel,  was  really 
excellent ;  so  good,  in  fact,  that  Tristrem  no 
sooner  saw  the  face  of  the  sphinx  than  to 
his  ears  came  the  hum  of  insects,  the  mur- 
mur of  distant  waters.  It  was  Viola  Rari- 
tan  to  the  life. 

"  She  guarded  her  secret,  indeed,"  he  mut- 
tered, huskily.  And  when  Yorke,  surprised 
at  such  a  criticism,  turned  to  him  for  an  ex- 


Tristrem  Varick.  20 1 

planntion,  he  had  just  time  to  break  his  fall. 
Tristrem  had  fallen  like  a  log. 

As  he  groped  back  through  a  roar  and 
turmoil  to  consciousness  again,  he  thought 
that  he  was  dead  and  that  this  was  the  tomb. 
"  That  Monkenkloster  must  have  been  too 
much  for  him,"  he  heard  Yorke  say,  in  Ger- 
man, and  then  some  answer  came  to  him  in 
sympathetic  gutturals.  He  opened  his  eyes 
ever  so  little,  and  then  let  the  lids  close 
down.  Had  he  been  in  a  nightmare,  he 
wondered,  or  was  it  Viola  ?  "  He's  coming 
too,"  he  heard  Yorke  say.  "  Yes,  I  am  quite 
right  now,"  he  answered,  and  he  raised  him- 
self on  his  elbow.  "  I  think,"  he  continued, 
"  that  I  had  better  get  to  my  room." 

"  Nonsense.     You  must  lie  still  awhile." 

For  the  moment  Tristrem  was  too  weak  to 
rebel,  and  he  fell  back  again  on  the  lounge  on 
which  he  had  been  placed,  and  from  which  he 
had  half  arisen.  Was  it  a  dream,  or  was  it 
the  real  ?  "  There,  I  am  better  now,"  he 

said  at  last  ;  "  I  wonder,  I Would  you 

mind  ordering  me  a  glass  of  brandy  ? " 

"Why,  there's  a  carafon  of  it  here.  I 
thought  you  had  had  too  much  of  that  wine." 

Some  drink  was  then  brought  him,  which 


2O2  Tristrem  Varick. 

he  swallowed  at  a  gulp.  Under  its  influ- 
ence his  strength  returned. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  have  put  you  to  so  much 
trouble,"  he  said  collectedly  to  Yorke  and 
to  a  waiter  who  had  been  summoned  to  his 
assistance  ;  4<  I  am  quite  myself  now." 
He  stood  up  again  and  the  waiter,  seeing 
that  he  was  fully  restored,  withdrew. 
When  the  door  closed  behind  him,  Tristrem 
went  boldly  back  to  the  picture. 

It  was  as  Yorke  had  described  it.  In  the 
background  was  a  sunset  made  of  cymbal 
strokes  of  vermilion,  splattered  with  gold, 
and  seamed  with  fantasies  of  red.  In  the 
foreground  fluttered  a  chimera,  so  artfully 
done  that  one  almost  heard  the  whir  of 
its  wings.  And  beneath  it  crouched  the 
Sphinx.  From  the  eyrie  of  the  years  the 
ages  had  passed  unmarked,  unnoticed. 
The  sphinx  brooded,  motionless  and  dumb. 

With  patient,  scrutinizing  attention  Tris- 
trem looked  in  her  eyes  and  at  her  face. 
There  was  no  mistake,  it  was  Viola.  Was 
there  ever  another  girl  in  the  world  such 
as  she  ?  And  this  was  her  secret !  Or  was 
there  a  secret,  after  all,  and  might  he  not 
have  misunderstood  ? 


Tristrem  l^arick.  203 

"Tell  me,"  he  said — "  I  will  not  praise 
your  picture  ;  in  many  respects  it  is  above 
praise — but  tell  me,  is  what  you  said  true  ? " 

"  Is  what  true  ?  " 

"  What  you  said  of  the  model." 

"About  her  being  in  the  chalet?  Of 
course  it  is.  Why  do  you  ask  ?  " 

"No,  not  that,  tell  me — Mr.  Yorke,  I  do 
not  mean  to  be  tragic  ;  if  I  seem  so,  forgive 
me  and  overlook  it.  But  as  you  love  honor, 
tell  me,  is  it  true  that  she  had  a  child  in 
this  place  ? " 

"Yes,  so  I  heard." 

"  And  you  say  her  name  was " 

"  Madame  Dubois — Dupont — I  have  for- 
gotten ;  they  can  tell  you  at  the  bureau. 
But  it  seems  to  me " 

"  Thank  you,"  Tristrem  answered. 
"Thank  you,"  he  repeated.  He  hesitated 
a  second  and  then,  with  an  abrupt  good- 
night, he  hurried  from  the  atelier  and  down 
the  corridor  till  he  reached  his  room. 

Through  the  open  window,  the  sulphur 
moon  poured  in.  He  looked  out  in  the 
garden.  Beyond,  half  concealed  in  the 
shadows,  he  could  see  the  outline  of  the 
chalet.  And  it  was  there  she  had  hid  !  He 


204  Tristrem  I/arick. 

pressed  his  hands  to  his  forehead  ;  he  could 
not  understand.  For  the  moment  he  felt 
that  if  he  could  lose  his  reason  it  would 
be  a  grateful  release.  If  only  some  light 
would  come !  He  drew  a  handkerchief 
from  his  pocket  and  mopped  his  face. 
And  then  suddenly,  as  he  did  so,  he  caught 
a  spark  of  that  for  which  he  groped.  The 
room  turned  round,  and  he  sank  into  a 
chair. 

Yes,  he  remembered,  it  was  at  Bergamo, 
no,  at  Bologna.  Yes,  it  was  at  Bergamo, 
he  remembered  perfectly  well.  He  had 
taken  from  one  of  his  trunks  a  coat  that  he 
had  not  worn  since  he  went  into  mourning. 
It  had  been  warm  that  day,  and  he  wanted 
some  thinner  clothing.  He  remembered  at 
the  time  congratulating  himself  that  he 
had  had  the  forethought  to  bring  it.  And 
later  in  the  day  he  had  taken  from  the  poc- 
ket a  handkerchief  of  a  smaller  size  than 
that  which  he  habitually  used.  He  had 
looked  at  it,  and  in  the  corner  he  had  found 
the  Weldon  crest.  As  to  how  it  had  come 
in  his  possession,  he  had  at  the  time  given 
no  thought.  Weldon,  in  one  of  his  visits, 
might  have  left  it  at  Waverley  Place,  or  he 


Tristrem  Varick.  205 

himself  might  have  borrowed  it  when  dining 
at  Weldon's  house.  He  was  absent-minded, 
he  knew,  and  apt  to  be  forgetful,  and  so  at 
the  time  he  had  given  the  matter  no  further 
thought.  After  all,  what  incident  could  be 
more  trivial  ?  But  now  the  handkerchief, 
like  a  magician's  rug,  carried  him  back  to 
Narragansett.  As  well  as  he  could  remem- 
ber, the  last  occasion  on  which  he  wore  that 
coat  was  the  day  on  which  the  butler's 
telegram  had  summoned  him  to  town. 
Then,  on  learning  of  his  father's  death,  he 
had  put  on  other  things,  of  sombrer  hue. 
Harris,  without  rummaging  in  the  pockets, 
had  folded  the  coat  and  put  it  away.  And 
it  had  remained  folded  ever  since  till  the 
other  day  at  Bologna— no,  at  Bergamo. 

That  morning  at  Narragansett,  when  he 
was  hurrying  into  the  cottage,  the  man  who 
had  aided  Viola  home  the  preceding  even- 
ing drove  up  with  her  hat,  with  this  very 
handkerchief,  and  the  story  of  a  dream. 
Aye,  and  his  own  dream.  So  this  was 
Truth.  She  had  pursued  him,  indeed.  He 
could  feel  her  knees  on  his  arms,  her  fetid 
breath  in  his  face.  But  this  time  it  was 
not  a  nightmare.  It  was  the  real. 


206  Tristrem  Varick. 

Yes,  it  was  that.  One  by  one  he  recalled 
the  incidents  of  the  past — incidents  on 
which  his  mind  loathed  to  dwell,  rebelling 
against  its  own  testimony  until  he  coerced 
the  shuddering  memories  to  his  will. 
There  were  the  numberless  times  in  which 
he  had  encountered  Weldon  coming  in  or 
leaving  her  house,  almost  haunting  it  with 
his  presence.  There  was  that  wanton  lie, 
and  the  unexplained  and  interrupted  scene 
between  them.  It  was  then,  perhaps,  that 
he  had  first  shown  the  demon  that  was  in 
him.  And  then,  afterward,  was  that  meet- 
ing on  the  cars — he  with  a  bruise  on  his 
cheek  and  a  gash  on  his  neck.  Why  was 
Viola's  whip  broken,  if  it  were  not  that  she 
had  broken  it  on  his  face  ?  Why  did  the 
nails  of  her  ungloved  hand  look  as  though 
they  had  been  stained  with  the  juice  of 
berries  ?  Why,  indeed,  if  it  were  not  that 
she  had  sunk  them  in  his  flesh.  Why  had 
he  heard  her  calling  "  Coward "  to  the 
night  ?  It  was  for  this,  then,  that  the  en- 
gagement had  been  broken  ;  it  was  for  this 
that  she  had  hidden  herself  abroad. 

For  the  first  time  since  his  boyhood,  he 
threw  himself  on  the  bed  and  sobbed  aloud. 


Tristrem  Varick.  207 

To  stifle  his  grief  he  buried  his  face  in  the 
pillow,  and  bit  it  with  his  teeth.  It  was 
more  than  grief,  it  was  anguish,  and  it  re- 
fused to  be  choked.  But  presently  it  did 
leave  him.  It  left  him  quivering  from  head 
to  foot,  and  in  its  place  came  another  visi- 
tor. An  obsession,  from  which  he  shrank, 
surged  suddenly,  and  claimed  him  for  its 
own.  In  a  combat,  of  which  his  heart  was 
the  one  dumb  witness,  he  battled  with  it. 
He  struggled  with  it  in  a  conflict  that  out- 
lasted hours  ;  but  presumably  he  coped  in 
vain.  The  next  morning  his  face  was  set 
as  a  captive's.  In  a  fortnight  he  was  in 
New  York. 

XV. 

THE  return  journey  was  unmarked  by  in- 
cident or  adventure.  Nothing  less  than  a 
smash-up  on  the  railway  or  the  wrecking  of 
the  ship  would  have  had  the  power  to  dis- 
tract his  thoughts.  It  may  even  be  that  his 
mind  was  unoccupied,  empty  as  is  a  vacant 
bier,  .and  yet  haunted  by  an  overmastering 
obsession.  The  ordinary  functions  of  the 
traveller  he  performed  mechanically,  with 


208  Tristrem  Varick. 

the  air  and  manner  of  a  subject  acting  un- 
der hypnotic  suggestion.  One  who  crossed 
the  ocean  with  him  has  since  said  that  the 
better  part  of  the  time  the  expression  of 
his  face  was  that  of  utter  vacuity.  He 
would  remain  crouched  for  hours,  in  the 
same  position,  a  finger  just  separating  the 
lips,  and  then  he  would  start  with  the 
tremor  of  one  awakening  from  a  debauch. 

Mrs.  Manhattan,  who  was  returning  with 
spoils  from  the  Rue  de  la  Paix,  asked  him 
one  afternoon,  as  he  happened  to  descend 
the  cabin-stair  in  her  company,  where  he 
had  passed  the  winter. 

"Yes,  indeed,"  Tristrem  answered,  and 
went  his  way  unconcernedly. 

Mrs.  Manhattan  complained  of  this  con- 
duct to  Nicholas,  her  husband,  alleging 
that  the  young  man  was  fatuous  in  his  im- 
pertinence. 

"  My  dear,"  returned  that  wise  habitue  of 
the  Athenaeum,  "  when  a  man  gives  away 
seven  million,  it  is  because  he  has  forgot- 
ten how  to  be  conventional." 

It  was  on  a  Sunday  that  the  ship  reached 
New  York,  and  it  was  late  in  the  afternoon 
%before  the  passengers  were  able  to  disem- 


Tristrem  1/arick.  209 

bark.  Tristrem  had  his  luggage  passed, 
and  expressed  to  his  grandfather's  .house, 
and  then,  despite  the  aggressive  solicitations 
of  a  crew  of  bandits,  started  up-town  on 
foot.  In  the  breast-pocket  of  his  coat  he 
carried  a  purchase  which  he  had  made  in 
Naples,  a  fantastic  article  which  he  had 
bought,  not  because  he  wanted  it,  but  be- 
cause the  peddler  who  pestered  him  with 
wares  and  offers  happened  to  be  the  best- 
looking  and  most  unrebuifably  good-nat- 
ured scoundrel  that  he  had  ever  encoun- 
tered. And  now,  at  intervals,  as  he  walked 
along,  he  put  his  hand  to  the  pocket  to 
assure  himself  that  it  was  still  in  place. 
Presently  he  reached  Broadway.  That 
thoroughfare,  which  on  earlier  Sundays  was 
wont  to  be  one  of  the  sedatest  avenues  of 
the  city,  was  starred  with  globes  of  azure 
light,  and  its  quiet  was  broken  by  the  pass- 
ing of  orange-colored  cars.  On  the  corner 
he  stopped  and  looked  at  his  watch.  It  was 
after  seven.  Then,  instead  of  continuing 
his  way  up-town,  he  turned  down  in  the  di- 
rection of  the  Battery.  His  head  was 
slightly  bent,  and  as  he  walked  he  had  the 
appearance  of  one  perplexed.  It  was  a 
14 


21 o  Tristrem  Varick. 

delightful  evening.  The  sky  was  as  blue 
as  the  .eyes  of  a  girl  beloved.  The  air  was 
warm,  and  had  the  street  been  less  noisy, 
less  garish,  and  a  trifle  cleaner  it  might  have 
been  an  agreeable  promenade.  But  to 
Tristrem  the  noise,  the  dirt,  the  glare,  the 
sky  itself  were  part  and  parcel  of  the  non- 
existent. He  neither  saw  nor  heeded,  and, 
though  the  air  was  warm,  now  and  then  he 
shivered. 

It  seemed  to  him  impossible  that  he 
should  do  this  thing.  And  yet,  since  that 
night  at  Riva,  his  mind  had  been  as  a  stage 
in  which  it  was  in  uninterrupted  rehearsal. 
If  it  were  unsuccessful,  then  come  what  sor- 
row could.  But  even  though  its  success 
were  assured,  might  not  the  success  be 
worse  than  failure,  and  viler  to  him  than 
the  most  ignoble  defeat  ?  Meditatively  he 
looked  at  his  hand  ;  it  was  slight  as  a  girl's. 

"  I  cannot,"  he  said,  and  even  as  he  said 
it  he  knew  that  he  would.  Had  he  not  said 
it  ten  thousand  times  of  times  before  ?  It 
was  not  what  he  willed,  it  was  what  he 
must.  He  was  in  the  lap  of  a  necessity 
from  which,  struggle  as  he  might,  he  could 
not  set  himself  free.  He  might  make  what 


Tristrem  Varick.  211 

resolutions  he  chose,  but  the  force  which 
acted  on  him  and  in  him  snuffed  them  out 
like  candles.  And  yet,  what  had  he  done 
to  fate  that  it  should  impel  him  to  this  ? 
Why  had  he  been  used  as  he  had?  What 
wrong  had  he  committed  ?  For  the  past 
twelvemonth  his  life  had  been  a  continuous 
torture.  Truly,  he  could  have  said,  "  no  one 
save  myself,  in  all  the  world,  has  learned  the 
acuity  of  pain.  I  alone  am  its  depository." 

"And  yet,"  he  mused,  "perhaps  it  is 
right.  Long  ago,  when  I  was  comparing 
my  nothingness  to  her  beauty,  did  I  not 
know  that  to  win  her  I  must  show  myself 
worthy  of  the  prize  ?  She  will  think  that  I 
am  when  I  tell  her.  Yes,  she  must  think 
so  when  it  is  done.  But  will  it  be  done  ? 
O  God,  I  cannot." 

For  the  instant  he  felt  as  though  he  must 
turn  to  the  passers  and  claim  their  protec- 
tion from  himself.  He  had  stopped  again, 
and  was  standing  under  a  great  pole  that 
supported  an  electric  light.  In  the  globe 
was  a  dim,  round  ball  of  red,  and  suddenly 
it  flared  up  into  a  flame  of  the  palest  lemon, 
edged  with  blue.  "  It  is  my  courage,"  he 
said,  "  I  have  done  with  hesitation  now." 


212  Tristrem  Varick. 

He  hailed  and  boarded  a  passing  car. 
"  Hesitation,  indeed  ! "  he  repeated.  "As  if 
I  had  not  known  all  through  that  when  the 
time  came  there  would  be  none  ! "  He  put 
his  hand  again  to  his  breast-pocket ;  it  was 
there. 

He  had  taken  the  seat  nearest  to  the  door, 
absently,  as  he  would  have  taken  any  other, 
and  the  conductor  found  it  necessary  to 
touch  him  on  the  shoulder  before  he  could 
extract  the  fare.  He  had  no  American 
money,  he  discovered,  and  would  have  left 
the  car  had  not  the  conductor  finally  agreed 
to  take  his  chances  with  a  small  piece  of 
foreign  gold,  though  not,  however,  until  he 
had  bit  it  tentatively  with  his  teeth.  It  was 
evident  that  he  viewed  Tristrem  with  sus- 
picion. 

At  Twentieth  Street  Tristrem  swung  him- 
self from  the  moving  vehicle,  and  turned 
into  Gramercy  Park.  He  declined  to  think  ; 
the  rehearsals  were  over,  he  did  not  even 
try  to  recall  the  role.  He  had  had  a  set 
speech,  but  it  was  gone  from  him  as  the 
indecision  had  gone  before.  Now  he  was 
to  act. 

He   hurried   up   the   stoop   of   Weldon's 


Tristrem 

house  and  rang  the  bell,  and  as  there  seemed 
to  him  some  unnecessary  delay,  he  rang 
again,  not  violently,  but  with  the  assurance 
of  a  creditor  who  has  come  to  be  paid.  But 
when  at  last  the  door  was  opened,  he 
learned  that  Weldon  was  not  at  home. 

As  he  went  down  the  steps  again  there 
came  to  him  a  great  gust  and  rush  of  joy. 
He  would  go  now,  he  had  been  fully  pre- 
pared, he  had  tried  his  best.  If  Weldon 
had  been  visible,  he  would  not  have  hesi- 
tated. But  he  had  not  been  ;  that  one 
chance  had  been  left  them  both,  and  now, 
with  a  certitude  that  had  never  visited  his 
former  indecisions,  he  felt  it  was  written 
that  that  deed  should  never  be  done.  He 
gasped  as  one  gasps  who  has  been  nearly 
stifled.  The  obsession  was  gone.  He  was 
free. 

In  the  street  he  raised  his  arms  to  testify 
to  his  liberty  reconquered.  Yet,  even  as 
they  fell  again,  he  knew  that  he  was  trick- 
ing himself.  A  tremor  beset  him,  and  to 
steady  himself  he  clutched  at  an  area-rail. 
Whether  he  stood  there  one  minute  or  one 
hour  he  could  not  afterward  recall.  He  re- 
membered only  that  while  he  loitered  Wei- 


214  Tristrem  Varick. 

don  had  rounded  the  corner,  and  that  as  he 
saw  him  approach,  jauntily,  in  evening  dress, 
a  light  coat  on  his  arm,  his  strength  re- 
turned. 

"  Royal,"  he  exclaimed,  for  the  man  was 
passing  him  without  recognition.  "  Royal," 
he  repeated,  and  Weldon  stopped.  "  I  have 
come  to  have  a  word  with  you." 

The  voice  in  which  he  spoke  was  so  un- 
like his  own,  so  rasping  and  defiant,  that 
Weldon,  with  the  dread  which  every  respect- 
able householder  has  of  a  scene  at  his  own 
front  door,  motioned  him  up  the  steps. 
"Come  in,"  he  said,  mellifluously,  "I  am 
glad  to  see  you." 

"  I  will,"  Tristrem  answered,  in  a  tone  as 
arrogant  as  before. 

"I  am  sorry,"  Weldon  continued,  "Nan- 
ny  " 

"  I  did  not  come  to  see  your  wife  ;  you 
know  it." 

Weldon  had  unlatched  the  door,  and  the 
two  men  passed  into  the  sitting-room. 
There  Weldon,  with  his  hat  unremoved, 
dropped  in  a  chair,  and  eyed  his  visitor 
with  affected  curiosity. 

"  I  say,  Trissy,  you're  drunk." 


Tristrem  Varick.  215 

"I  am  come,"  Tristrem  continued,  and 
this  time  as  he  spoke  his  voice  seemed  to 
recover  something  of  its  former  gentleness, 
"I  am  come  to  ask  whether,  in  the  purlieus 
of  your  heart,  there  is  nothing  to  tell  you 
how  base  you  are." 

Weldon  stretched  himself  languidly,  took 
off  his  hat,  stood  up,  and  lit  a  cigarette. 
"  Have  an  Egyptian  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Do  you  remember,"  Tristrem  went  on, 
"  the  last  time  I  saw  you  ?  " 

Weldon  tossed  the  match  into  an  ash- 
receiver,  and,  with  the  cigarette  between 
his  teeth,  sprawled  himself  out  on  a  sofa. 
"Well,  what  of  it?" 

"When  I  saw  you,  you  had  just  contract- 
ed a  debt.  And  now  you  can  liquidate  that 
debt  either  by  throwing  yourself  in  the 
river  or " 

"Charming,  Triss,  charming!  You  have 
made  a  bon  mot.  I  will  get  that  off.  Liqui- 
date a  debt  with  water  is  really  good. 
There's  the  advantage  of  foreign  travel  for 
you." 

"  Do  you  know  what  became  of  your  vic- 
tim ?  Do  you  know  ?  She  went  abroad 
and  hid  herself.  Shall  I  give  you  details  ? " 


216  Tristrem  Varick. 

For  the  first  time  Weldon  scowled. 

"  Would  you  like  the  details  ?  "  Tristrem 
repeated. 

Weldon  mastered  his  scowl.  "No,"  he 
answered,  negligently.  "  I  am  not  a  mid- 
wife. Obstetrics  do  not  interest  me.  On 
the  contra " 

That  word  he  never  finished.  Something 
exploded  in  his  brain,  he  saw  one  fleeting 
flash,  and  he  was  dead.  Even  as  he  spoke, 
Tristrem  had  whipped  an  instrument  from 
his  pocket,  and  before  Weldon  was  aware 
of  his  purpose,  a  knife,  thin  as  a  darning- 
needle  and  long  as  a  pencil — a  knife  which 
it  had  taken  the  splendid  wickedness  of 
mediaeval  Rome  to  devise — had  sunk  into 
his  heart,  and  was  out  again,  leaving  behind 
it  a  pin's  puncture  through  the  linen,  one 
infinitesimal  bluish-gray  spot  on  the  skin, 
and  death. 

Tristrem  looked  at  him.  The  shirt  was 
not  even  rumpled.  If  he  had  so  much  as 
quivered,  the  quiver  had  been  impercepti- 
ble, and  on  the  knife  there  was  no  trace  of 
blood.  It  fell  from  his  fingers  ;  he  stooped 
to  pick  it  up,  but  his  hand  trembled  so  that, 
on  recovering  it,  he  could  not  insert  the 


Tristrem  Varich.  2/7 

point  into  the  narrow  sheath  that  belonged 
to  it,  and,  throwing  the  bit  of  embroidered 
leather  in  a  corner,  he  put  the  weapon  in 
his  pocket. 

"  It  was  easier  than  I  thought,"  he  mused. 
"  I  suppose — h'm — I  seem  to  be  nervous. 
It's  odd.  I  feared  that  afterward  I  should 
collapse  like  an  omelette  soufflee.  And  to 
think  that  it  is  done  !  " 

He  turned  suspiciously,  and  looked  at  the 
body  again.  No,  he  could  see  it  was  really 
done.  "And  so,  this  is  afterward,"  he  con- 
tinued. "And  to  think  that  it  was  here  I 
first  saw  her.  She  came  in  that  door  there. 
I  remember  I  thought  of  a  garden  of  lilies." 

From  the  dining-room  beyond  he  caught 
the  glimmer  of  a  lamp.  He  crossed  the  in- 
tervening space,  and  on  the  sideboard  he 
found  some  decanters.  He  selected  one, 
and  pouring  a  little  of  its  contents  into  a 
tumbler  he  drank  it  off.  Then  he  poured 
another  portion,  and  when  he  had  drunk 
that  too,  he  went  out,  not  through  the  sit- 
ting-room, but  through  the  hall,  and,  pick- 
ing up  the  hat  which  on  entering  he  had 
thrown  on  the  table,  he  left  the  house. 


2i 8  Tristrem  I/arick. 


XVI. 

SEVERAL  thousand  years  ago  a  thinker 
defined  virtue  as  the  agreement  of  the  will 
and  the  conscience.  If  the  will  were  coer- 
cible the  definition  would  be  matchless. 
Unfortunately  it  is  not.  Will  declines  to 
be  reasoned  with  ;  it  insists,  and  in  its  insist- 
ence conscience,  horrified  or  charmed,  stands 
a  witness  to  its  acts. 

For  a  fortnight  Tristrem  had  been  mar- 
ried to  an  impulse  against  which  his  finer 
nature  rebelled.  It  was  not  that  the  killing 
of  such  a  one  as  Weldon  was  unjustifiable  ; 
on  the  contrary,  it  was  rather  praiseworthy 
than  otherwise.  His  crime  was  one  for 
which  the  noose  is  too  good.  But  to  Wel- 
don, in  earlier  days,  he  had  felt  as  to  a 
brother  ;  and  though  affection  may  die,  does 
it  not  leave  behind  it  a  memory  which 
should  thereafter  serve  as  a  protecting 
shield  ?  It  had  been  the  bonds  of  former 
attachment,  bonds  long  loosened,  it  is  true, 
but  of  which  the  old  impress  still  lingered, 
that  seemed  to  Tristrem  to  tie  his  hands. 
Then,  too,  was  the  horror  of  such  a  thing. 


Tristrem  l/arick.  219 

There  is  nothing,  a  Scandinavian  poet  has 
said,  more  beautiful  than  a  beautiful  re- 
venge ;  yet  when  a  man  is  so  tender  of  heart 
that  if  it  be  raining  he  will  hesitate  to  shoo 
a  persistent  fly  out  of  the  window,  it  is  dif- 
ficult for  that  man,  however  great  the  ag- 
gravation, to  take  another's  life.  Besides, 
the  impulse  which  had  acted  in  Tristrem 
was  not  one  of  revenge.  He  had  not  the 
slightest  wish  to  take  the  law  into  his  own 
hands.  The  glaive  of  atonement  was  not 
one  which  he  felt  himself  called  upon  to 
wield.  That  which  possessed  him  was  the 
idea  that  until  the  world  was  rid  of  Weldon 
there  was  a  girl  somewhere  who  could  not 
look  her  own  mother  in  the  face.  And  that 
girl  was  the  girl  whom  he  loved,  a  girl  who 
apparently  had  no  other  protector  than  him- 
self. 

In  the  rehearsals,  it  was  this  that  had 
strung  his  nerves  to  acting  pitch.  When  it 
was  done  he  proposed  to  go  to  her  with  a 
reverence  even  greater  than  before,  with  a 
sympathy  unspoken  yet  sentiable,  and  leave 
her  with  the  knowledge  that  the  injury  had 
been  obliterated  and  the  shame  effaced. 
For  himself,  whatever  he  may  have  hoped, 


22O  Tristrem  Varick. 

he  determined  to  ask  for  nothing.  It  was 
for  her  he  defied  the  law  ;  he  was  her  agent, 
one  whom  she  might  recompense  or  not 
with  her  lithe  white  arms,  but  one  to  whom 
she  would  at  least  be  grateful.  And  how 
beautiful  her  gratitude  might  be  !  Though 
she  gave  him  nothing  else,  would  not  the 
thanks  of  her  eyes  be  reward  enough  ?  And 
then,  as  he  worked  himself  up  with  the 
thought  of  these  things  to  acting  pitch,  then 
would  come  the  horror  of  it  all,  the  neces- 
sity of  taking  the  life  of  one  who  had  been 
his  nearest  friend,  the  dread  of  the  remorse 
which  attaches  to  death,  the  soiling  of  his 
own  hands.  It  was  in  this  fashion  that  he 
had  wavered  between  indecision  and  de- 
termination, until,  at  last,  stung  by  the  cyn- 
icism of  Weldon's  speech,  there  had  come 
to  him  a  force  such  as  he  had  never  pos- 
sessed before,  and  suddenly  the  deed  had 
been  done. 

The  possible  arraignment  that  might  fol- 
low the  inquest,  he  had  never  considered. 
It  is  said  that  the  art  of  killing  has  been 
lost.  The  tribunals,  assizes,  and  general  ses- 
sions have  doubtless  led  somewhat  to  its 
discouragement,  and  yet  it  must  be  admitted 


Tristrem  1/arick.  221 

that  the  office  of  police  justice  in  one  way 
resembles  that  of  lover  in  the  tropics — it  is 
not  exactly  a  sinecure.  Perhaps,  nowadays, 
it  is  only  the  blunderers  that  are  detected  ; 
yet,  however  numerous  they  mayor  may  not 
be,  Tristrem,  without  giving  a  single  thought 
as  to  how  such  a  thing  should  be  done  and 
remain  undetected,  had  had  such  chances  in 
his  favor  that  Vidocq  himself  might  have 
tried  in  vain  to  fasten  the  death  of  Weldon 
on  him.  No  one  had  seen  him  enter  the 
house,  no  one  had  seen  him  leave  it.  Even 
the  instrument  which  he  had  used,  and  which 
he  had  bought  hap-hazard,  as  one  buys  a 
knick-knack,  had  served  his  end  as  cleanly 
as  a  paralysis  of  the  heart.  It  had  not 
spilled  a  drop  of  blood. 

As  Tristrem  walked  on,  he  did  not  think 
of  these  things ;  the  possibility  of  detection 
had  not  troubled  him,  and  now  the  proba- 
bility that  Weldon's  death  would  be  at- 
tributed to  natural  causes  brought  him 
no  satisfaction.  Of  himself  he  gave  no 
thought.  He  had  wondered,  indeed,  that 
his  presence  of  mind  had  not  deserted  him  ; 
he  had  marvelled  at  his  own  calm.  But  now 
his  thoughts  were  wholly  with  Viola,  and 


222  Tristrem  Varick. 

when  he  reached  Fifth  Avenue  he  deter- 
mined to  go  to  her  at  once. 

A  vagabond  hansom  was  loitering  near, 
and  with  its  assistance  he  presently  reached 
her  door.  Even  as  he  entered,  it  was  evi- 
dent that  she  was  not  alone.  On  putting 
his  hat  down  in  the  hall  he  noticed  two 
others,  and  through  the  portiere  came  the 
sound  of  voices.  But  he  pushed  the  cur- 
tain aside,  and  entered  the  room  with  the 
air  of  one  to  whom  the  conventional  has  lost 
its  significance.  Yet,  as  he  did  so,  he  felt 
that  he  was  wrong.  If  he  wished  to  see 
Viola,  would  it  not  have  been  more  cour- 
teous to  her  to  get  into  evening  dress  than 
to  appear  among  her  guests  in  a  costume 
suitable  only  for  the  afternoon  ?  Society 
he  knew  to  be  a  despot.  Though  it  has  no 
dungeons,  at  least  it  can  banish,  and  to  those 
that  have  been  brought  up  in  its  court  there 
are  no  laws  rigider  than  its  customs.  Be- 
sides, was  he  in  a  mood  to  thrust  himself 
among  those  whose  chiefest  ambition  was  to 
be  ornate  ?  He  was  aware  of  his  mistake  at 
once,  but  not  until  it  was  too  late  to  recede. 

Among  those  present  he  recognized  a  man 
who,  though  well  on  in  life,  devoted  his  en- 


Tristrem  Varick. 

tire  time  to  matters  appertaining  to  the 
amusements  of  the  selectest  circles.  He 
was  talking  to  a  girl  who,  moist  as  to  the 
lips  and  eyes,  looked  as  had  she  just  issued 
from  a  vapor-bath.  Near  to  her  was  Mrs. 
Raritan.  Tristrem  noticed  that  her  hair 
had  turned  almost  white.  And  a  little  be- 
yond, a  young  man  with  a  retreating  fore- 
head and  a  Pall  Mall  accent  sat,  splendidly 
attired,  talking  to  Viola. 

Mrs.  Raritan  was  the  first  to  greet  him, 
and  she  did  so  in  the  motherly  fashion  that 
was  her  own.  And  as  she  spoke  Viola  came 
forward,  said  some  simple  word,  and  went 
back  to  her  former  place. 

"  Come  with  me,"  said  Mrs.  Raritan,  and 
she  led  him  to  an  S  in  upholstery,  in  which 
they  both  found  seats.  "  And  now  tell  me 
about  yourself,"  she  added.  "And  where 
have  you  been  ?  " 

Truly  it  was  pitiful.  She  looked  ten 
years  older.  From  a  handsome,  well-pre- 
served woman  she  had  in  a  twelvemonth 
been  overtaken  by  age. 

"I  have  been  in  Europe,  you  know," 
Tristrem  answered  ;  "  I  wrote  to  you  from 
Vienna,  and  again  from  Rome." 


224  Tristrem  Varick. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  Mrs.  Raritan  replied  ; 
"  the  bankers  are  so  negligent.  There  were 
many  letters  that  must  have  gone  astray. 
Were  you — you  had  a  pleasant  winter,  of 
course.  And  how  is  your  grandfather  ? " 

"  I  have  not  seen  him.  I  am  just  off 
the  ship." 

At  this  announcement  Mrs.  Weldon 
looked  perplexed. 

"  Is  it  possible  that  you  only  arrived  this 
evening  ? "  she  asked. 

"  Yes,  I  wanted  to  see  Viola.  You  know 
it  is  almost  a  year  since — since — I  tried  to 
find  you  both  in  Europe,  but " 

"  Mr.  Varick,  did  I  hear  you  say  that  you 
arrived  from  Europe  to-day?"  It  was  the 
gentleman  who  devoted  himself  to  the  in- 
terests of  society  that  was  speaking. 

"Yes,  I  came  on  the  Bourgogne." 

"  Was  Mrs.  Manhattan  on  board  ?  " 

Tristrem  answered  that  she  was,  and  then 
the  gentleman  in  question  entered  into  an 
elaborate  discourse  on  the  subject  of  Mrs. 
Manhattan's  summer  plans.  While  he  was 
still  speaking  a  servant  informed  the  vapor- 
ous maiden  that  her  maid  and  carriage  had 
arrived,  and  presently  that  young  lady  left 


Tristrem  Varick.  225 

the  room.  Soon  after  the  society  agent  dis- 
appeared, and  a  little  later  the  youth  that 
had  been  conversing  with  Miss  Raritan  took 
his  splendor  away. 

As  yet  Tristrem  had  had  no  opportunity 
of  exchanging  a  word  with  Viola.  To  his 
hostess  he  had  talked  with  feverish  anima- 
tion on  the  subject  of  nothing  at  all  ;  but 
as  the  adolescent  who  had  been  engaging 
Viola's  attention  came  to  Mrs.  Raritan  to 
bid  that  lady  good-night,  Tristrem  left  the 
upholstered  S  and  crossed  the  room  to 
where  the  girl  was  seated. 

"Viola,"  he  began,  but  she  stayed  his 
speech  with  a  gesture. 

The  young  man  was  leaving  the  room,  and 
it  was  evident  from  Mrs.  Raritan's  attitude 
that  it  was  her  intention  to  leave  it  also. 

"lam  tired,"  that  lady  said,  as  the  front 
door  closed  ;  "  you  won't  mind  ?  "  And 
Tristrem,  who  had  arisen  when  he  saw  her 
standing,  went  forward  and  bowed  over  her 
hand,  and  then  preceded  her  to  the  por- 
tiere, which  he  drew  aside  that  she  might 
pass. 

"  Good-night,    Mrs.    Raritan,"   he    said  ; 
"good-night,  and  pleasant  dreams." 
15 


226  Tristrem  Varick. 

Then  he  turned  to  the  girl.  She,  too, 
looked  older,  or,  perhaps,  it  would  be  more 
exact  to  say  she  looked  more  mature. 
Something  of  the  early  fragrance  had  left 
her  face,  but  she  was  as  beautiful  as  before. 

Her  gold  eyes  were  brilliant  as  high  noon, 
and  her  cheeks  bore  an  unwonted  color. 
She  was  dressed  in  white,  her  girdle  was 
red  with  roses,  and  her  arms  and  neck  were 
bare. 

As  Mrs.  Raritan  passed  from  the  room, 
Tristrem  let  the  portiere  fall  again,  and 
stood  a  moment  feasting  his  famished  eyes 
in  hers.  At  last  he  spoke. 

"  He  is  dead,  Viola." 

The  words  came  from  him  very  gravely, 
and  when  he  had  uttered  them  he  looked 
down  at  the  rug. 

"  Dead  !  Who  is  dead  ?  What  do  you 
mean  ?" 

"  He  is  dead,"  he  repeated,  but  still  he 
kept  his  eyes  lowered. 

"He!  What  he  ?  What  are  you  talking 
about  ?  "  She  had  left  her  seat  and  fronted 
him. 

"  Royal  Weldon,"  he  made  answer,  and  as 
he  did  so  he  looked  up  at  her. 


Tristrem  Varick.  227 

Her  hands  fluttered  like  falling  leaves. 
An  increased  color  mounted  to  her  cheeks, 
and  disappearing,  left  them  white.  Her  lips 
trembled. 

"  I  do  not  understand,"  she  gasped.  And 
then,  as  her  dilated  eyes  stared  into  his  own, 
he  saw  that  she  understood  at  last.  Her 
fluttering  hands  had  gone  to  her  throat,  as 
though  to  tear  away  some  invisible  clutch. 
Her  lips  had  grown  gray.  She  was  livid. 

"  It  is  better  so,  is  it  not  ? "  he  asked,  and 
searched  her  face  for  some  trace  of  the 
symptoms  of  joy.  As  he  gazed  at  her,  she 
retreated.  Her  hands  had  left  her  throat, 
her  forehead  was  pinioned  in  their  grasp, 
and  in  her  eyes  the  expression  of  terrified 
wonder  was  seamed  and  obscured  by  an- 
other that  resembled  hate. 

"  And  it  was  you,"  she  stammered,  "it 
was  you  ? " 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  with  an  air  of  won- 
der that  equalled  her  own  ;  "  yes " 

"  You  tell  me  that  Royal  Weldon  is  dead, 
and  that  you — that  you " 

"  It  was  this  way,"  he  began,  impelled,  in 
his  own  surprise,  to  some  form  of  explana- 
tion. "  It  was  this  way — you  see — well,  I 


228  Tristrem  Varick. 

went  to  Riva.  That  man  that  brought  back 

your  hat Good  God,  Viola,  are  you  not 

glad?" 

She  had  fallen  into  a  chair,  and  he  was 
at  her  feet. 

"  Are  you  not  glad  ? "  he  insisted.  "  Now, 

it  will  be "  But  whatever  he  intended 

to  say,  the  speech  remained  uncompleted. 
The  girl  had  drawn  from  him  as  from  an 
adder  unfanged. 

"  Assassin ! "  she  hissed.  "  Assassin  ! "  she 
hissed  again.  "  What  curse " 

"  Viola,  it  was  for  your  sake." 

She  clinched  her  hand  as  though  she 
sought  the  strength  wherewith  to  strike. 
And  then  the  fingers  loosened  again.  She 
moved  still  farther  away.  The  hatred  left 
her  eyes,  as  the  wonder  had  done  before. 
With  the  majesty  which  Mary  Stuart  must 
have  shown  when  she  bade  farewell  to  Eng- 
land, to  the  sceptre,  and  to  life,  Viola  Rari- 
tan  turned  to  him  again  : 

"I  loved  him,"  she  muttered,  yet  so 
faintly  that  she  had  left  the  room  before 
Tristrem,  who  still  crouched  by  the  chair 
which  she  had  vacated,  fully  caught  the  im- 
port of  her  words. 


Tristrem  Varick.  229 

"  Viola  !  "  he  called.  But  she  had  gone. 
"  Viola !  No,  no  ;  it  is  impossible.  It  is  im- 
possible," he  repeated,  as  he  rose  up  again  ; 
"it  is  impossible." 

He  staggered  to  the  door  and  let  himself 
out.  And  then,  as  the  night-air  affects  one 
who  has  loitered  over  the  wine,  he  reeled. 

In  a  vision  such  as  is  said  to  visit  the  ulti- 
mate consciousness  of  they  that  drown,  a 
riot  of  long-forgotten  incidents  surged  to 
his  mind.  He  battled  with  them  in  vain  ; 
they  were  trivial,  indeed,  but  in  their  on- 
slaught he  saw  that  the  impossible  was 
truth. 

With  the  aimlessness  of  a  somnambulist, 
and  reasoning  with  himself  the  while,  he 
walked  down  through  Madison  Avenue  un- 
til he  reached  the  square.  There,  turning 
into  Lexington,  he  entered  Gramercy  Park. 
Presently  he  found  himself  standing  at 
Weldon's  door.  "  But  what  am  I  doing 
here  ? "  he  mused.  For  a  little  time,  he 
leaned  against  the  rail,  endeavoring  to  col- 
lect his  thoughts.  Then,  as  an  individual, 
coated  in  blue  and  glistening  as  to  his  but- 
tons, sauntered  by,  he  seemed  to  under- 
stand. He  left  the  railing  at  which  he  had 


2  jo  Tristrem  Varick. 

stood,  and,  circling  the  park,  set  out  in  the 
direction  of  the  river.  As  he  reached  Second 
Avenue,  a  train  of  the  elevated  railway 
flamed  about  an  adjacent  corner,  and  swept 
like  a  dragon  in  mid-air,  on,  beyond,  and 
out  of  sight.  To  the  right  was  a  great  fac- 
tory, and  as  Tristrem  continued  his  way 
through  the  unfamiliar  street  he  wondered 
what  the  people  in  the  train,  what  the  fac- 
tory-hands, and  the  dwellers  in  the  neigh- 
borhood would  say  if  they  could  surmise 
his  errand.  The  river  was  yet  some  dis- 
tance away.  It  was  such  a  pity,  he  told 
himself,  such  a  pity,  that  he  had  not  ac- 
cepted the  invitation  of  the  sea.  That 
would  have  been  so  much  better,  so  much 
surer,  and  so  much  more  discreet.  And 
then  he  fell  to  wondering  about  his  grand- 
father, and  his  heart  was  filled  with  an- 
guish. He  would  have  done  anything  to 
save  that  old  man  from  pain.  But  it  was 
too  late  now.  A  gas-jet  that  lighted  a  wide 
and  open  door  attracted  his  attention  ;  he 
looked  in,  the  building  seemed  empty  as  a 
lecture-hall.  After  all,  he  decided,  perhaps 
that  would  be  best. 

Half  an  hour  later,  Tristrem  Varick  was 


Tristrem  Varick.  231 

the  occupant  of  a  room  that  was  not  as 
large  as  one  of  the  closets  in  his  grand- 
father's house.  The  furniture  consisted  of 
a  wooden  bench.  The  sole  fixture  was  an 
apparatus  for  drawing  water.  The  floor 
was  tiled  and  the  upper  part  of  the  walls 
was  white;  the  lower,  red.  The  room  itself 
was  very  clean.  There  was  no  window,  and 
the  door,  which  was  of  grated  iron,  had 
been  locked  from  without.  From  an  ad- 
joining cell,  a  drunken  harlot  rent  the  night 
with  the  strain  of  a  maudlin  ditty. 

XVII. 

IT  was  some  little  time  before  the  powers 
that  are  could  be  convinced  that  Tristrem 
Varick  was  guilty  of  the  self-accused  mur- 
der. It  was  not  that  murders  are  rare,  but 
a  murder  such  as  that  was  tolerably  uncom- 
mon. The  sergeant  who  presided  over  the 
police-station  in  which  Tristrem  had  de- 
livered himself  up  was  a  mild-mannered 
man,  gentle  of  voice,  and  sceptical  as  a  rag- 
picker. He  received  Tristrem's  statement 
without  turning  a  hair. 

"  What  did  you  do  it  for  ?  "  he  asked,  and 


2  $2  Tristrem  Varick. 

when  Tristrem  declined  to  enter  into  any 
explanation,  he  smiled  with  affable  incre- 
dulity. "  I  can,  if  you  insist,"  he  said,  "  ac- 
commodate you  with  a  night's  lodging." 
And  he  was  as  good  as  his  word  ;  but  the 
cell  which  Tristrem  subsequently  occupied 
was  not  opened  for  him  until  the  sergeant 
was  convinced  that  death  had  really  visited 
the  precinct. 

Concerning  the  form  in  which  that  death 
had  come,  there  was  at  first  no  doubt. 
Weldon  had  been  found  stretched  lifeless 
on  a  sofa.  The  physician  who  was  then 
summoned  made  a  cursory  examination,  and 
declared  that  death  was  due  to  disease  of 
the  heart.  Had  Tristrem  held  his  tongue, 
that  verdict,  in  all  probability,  would  never 
have  been  questioned  ;  indeed,  it  was  not 
until  the  minuter  autopsy  which  Tristrem's 
statement  instigated  that  the  real  cause  was 
discovered. 

It  was  then  that  it  began  to  be  admitted 
that  violence  had  been  used,  but  as  to 
whether  that  violence  was  accidental  or  in- 
tentional, and  if  intentional,  whether  or  not 
it  was  premeditated,  was  a  matter  which, 
according  to  our  archaic  law,  twelve  men 


Tristrem  Varick. 

in  a  pen  could  alone  decide.  The  case  was 
further  complicated  by  a  question  of  sanity. 
Granting  that  some  form  of  manslaughter 
had  been  committed,  was  it  the  act  of  one 
in  full  possession  of  his  faculties,  or  was  it 
the  act  of  one  bereft  of  his  senses  ? 

Generally  speaking,  public  opinion  in- 
clined to  the  latter  solution.  Indeed,  there 
seemed  to  be  but  one  other  in  any  way 
tenable,  and  that  was,  that  the  blow  was 
self-inflicted.  This  theory  had  many  parti- 
sans. The  records,  if  not  choked,  are  well 
filled  with  the  trials  of  individuals  who  have 
confessed  to  crimes  of  which  they  were  ut- 
terly guiltless.  It  was  discovered  that  a 
recent  slump  in  Wall  Street  had  seriously 
affected  Weldon's  credit.  It  was  known 
that  his  manner  of  living  had  compelled  his 
wife  to  return  to  her  father's  house,  and  it 
was  shown  that  she  had  begun  an  action  for 
divorce.  It  seemed,  therefore,  possible  that 
he  had  taken  his  own  life  in  Tristrem's  pres- 
ence, and  that  Tristrem,  in  the  horror  of  the 
spectacle,  had  become  mentally  unhinged. 

In  addition  to  this,  there  was  against 
Tristrem — aside,  of  course,  from  the  confes- 
sion— barely  a  scintilla  of  evidence.  The 


Tristrem  Varick. 

very  instrument  which  was  found  on  his 
person,  and  with  which  he  declared  the 
murder  had  been  committed,  was  said  not 
to  belong  to  him.  A  servant  of  Weldon's 
thought  she  had  once  seen  it  in  the  posses- 
sion of  her  late  master.  And  it  was  argued 
that  Tristrem  had  caught  it  up  when  it  fell 
from  the  hand  of  the  dead,  and,  in  the  con- 
sternation of  the  moment,  had  thrust  it  in 
his  own  pocket.  Moreover,  as  suicides  go, 
there  was  in  Weldon's  case  a  tangible  ex- 
cuse. He  was  on  the  edge  of  bankruptcy, 
and  his  matrimonial  venture  was  evidently 
infelicitous.  His  life  was  an  apparent  fail- 
ure. Many  other  men  have  taken  their  own 
lives  for  causes  much  minor. 

The  theory  of  suicide  was  therefore  not 
untenable,  and  those  who  preferred  to  be- 
lieve that  a  murder  had  been  really  com- 
mitted were  at  a  loss  for  a  motive.  Tris- 
trem and  Weldon  were  known  to  have  been 
on*  terms  of  intimacy.  Tristrem  had  been 
absent  from  the  country  a  number  of 
months,  while  Weldon  had  steadfastly  re- 
mained in  New  York.  During  the  inter- 
vening period  it  was  impossible  to  conject- 


Tristrern  Varick. 

ure  the  slightest  cause  of  disagreement. 
And  yet,  no  sooner  did  the  two  men  have 
the  opportunity  of  meeting,  than  one  fell 
dead,  and  the  other  gave  himself  up  as  his 
murderer.  And  if  that  murder  had  been 
really  committed,  then  what  was  the  mo- 
tive ? 

This  was  the  point  that  particularly  per- 
plexed the  District  Attorney.  It  could  not 
have  been  money.  Tristrem  had  never 
speculated,  and  his  financial  relations  with 
Weldon  were  confined  to  certain  loans  made 
to  the  latter,  and  long  since  repaid.  Nor, 
through  the  whole  affair,  could  the  sharp- 
est ear  detect  so  much  as  the  rustle  of  a 
petticoat.  Inasmuch,  then,  as  neither  of 
the  two  great  motor  forces,  woman  and 
gold,  was  discernible,  it  is  small  wonder 
that  the  District  Attorney  was  perplexed. 
To  that  gentleman  the  case  was  one  of  pe- 
culiar importance.  His  term  of  office  had 
nearly  expired,  and  he  ardently  desired  re- 
election. Two  wealthy  misdemeanants  had 
recently  slipped  through  his  fingers — not 
through  any  fault  of  his  own,  but  they  had 
slipped,  none  the  less — and  some  rhetoric 


2^6  Tristrem  Varick. 

had  been  employed  to  show  that  there  was  a 
law  for  the  poor  and  a  more  elastic  one  for 
the  rich.  Now  Tristrem's  conviction  would 
be  the  finest  plume  he  could  stick  in  his 
hat.  The  possessor  of  an  historic  name,  a 
member  of  what  is  known  as  the  best  so- 
ciety, an  habitue  of  exclusive  clubs — a  rep- 
resentative, in  fact,  of  everything  that  is 
most  hateful  to  the  mob — and  yet  a  mur- 
derer. No,  such  a  prize  as  that  must  not 
be  allowed  to  escape.  The  District  Attor- 
ney felt  that,  did  such  a  thing  occur,  he 
might  bid  an  eternal  farewell  to  greatness 
and  the  bench. 

But  what  was  the  motive  of  the  crime  ? 
Long  before  that  question,  which  eventually 
assumed  the  proportions  of  a  pyramid,  was 
seriously  examined,  it  had  been  demon- 
strated that  the  wound  from  which  Weldon 
had  died  was  not  one  that  could  have  been 
self-inflicted.  The  theory  of  suicide  was 
thereupon  and  at  once  abandoned.  And 
those  who  had  been  most  vehement  in  its 
favor  now  asserted  that  Tristrem  was  in- 
sane. What  better  evidence  of  insanity 
could  there  be  than  the  giving  away  of  seven 


Tristrem  Varick. 

millions  ?  But  apart  from  that,  there  were 
a  number  of  people  willing  to  testify  that 
on  shipboard  Tristrem's  demeanor  was  that 
of  a  lunatic — moreover,  did  he  not  insist 
that  he  was  perfectly  sane,  and  where  was 
the  lunatic  that  ever  admitted  himself  to  be 
demented  ?  Of  course  he  was  insane. 

A  committee,  however,  composed  of  a 
lawyer,  a  layman,  and  a  physician,  visited 
Tristrem,  and  announced  exactly  the  con- 
trary. According  to  their  report,  he  was  as 
sane  as  the  law  allows,  and,  although  that 
honorable  committee  did  not  seem  to  sus- 
pect it,  it  may  be  that  he  was  even  a  trifle 
saner.  One  of  the  committee — the  layman 
— started  out  on  his  visit  with  no  inconsid- 
erable trepidation.  In  after-conversation, 
he  said  that  it  had  never  been  his  privilege 
to  exchange  speech  with  one  gentler  and 
more  courteous  than  that  self-accused  mur- 
derer. 

Yet  still  the  motive  was  elusive.  In  this 
particular,  Tristrem  hindered  everybody  to 
the  best  of  his  ability.  He  was  resolutely 
mute. 

The  attorney  who  was  retained  for  the  de- 


Tristrem  Varick. 

fence — not,  however,  through  any  wish  of 
Tristrem's — could  make  nothing  of  his  cli- 
ent. "  It  is  pathetic,"  he  said  ;  "  he  keeps 
telling  me  that  he  is  guilty,  that  he  is  sane, 
that  he  is  infinitely  indebted  for  my  kind- 
ness and  sympathy,  but  that  he  does  not  wish 
to  be  defended.  Sane  ?  He  is  no  more  sane 
than  the  King  of  Bavaria.  Who  ever  heard 
of  an  inmate  of  the  Tombs  that  did  not 
want  to  be  defended  ?  Isn't  that  evidence 
enough  ? " 

It  was  possible,  of  course,  to  impugn  the 
testimony  of  the  committee,  but  the  attor- 
ney in  this  instance  deemed  it  wiser  to  let 
it  go  for  what  it  was  worth,  while  showing 
that  Tristrem,  if  sane  at  the  time  of  the 
committee's  examination,  was  insane  at  the 
time  the  crime,  if  crime  there  were,  was 
committed.  It  was  his  settled  conviction 
that  if  Tristrem  would  only  explain  the 
motive,  it  would  be  of  such  a  nature  that 
the  chances  of  acquittal  would  be  in  his 
favor.  In  this,  presumably,  he  was  cor- 
rect. But,  in  default  of  any  explanation,  he 
determined  that  the  only  adoptable  line  of 
defence  was  the  one  already  formulated  ;  to 


Tristrem  l/arick.  239 

wit,  that  in  slaying  Weldon  his  client  was 
temporarily  deranged. 

Meanwhile  he  expressed  his  conviction  to 
the  grief-stricken  old  man  by  whom  he  had 
been  retained,  and  who  himself  had  tried, 
unavailingly,  to  learn  the  cause.  Whether 
he  divined,  or  not,  what  it  really  was,  is  a 
matter  of  relative  unimportance.  In  any 
event,  he  had  discovered  that  on  leaving 
Weldon's  house  Tristrem,  instead  of  giving 
himself  up  at  once,  which  he  would  have 
done  had  he  at  the  time  intended  to  do  so 
at  all,  had  gone  directly  to  Miss  Raritan. 

And  one  day  he,  too,  went  to  her.  "  You 
can  save  him,"  he  said. 

He  might  as  well  have  asked  alms  of  a 
statue.  He  went  again,  but  the  result  was 
the  same.  And  then  a  third  time  he  went 
to  her,  and  on  his  knees,  with  clasped  and 
trembling  hands,  in  a  voice  broken  and 
quavering,  he  besought  her  to  save  his 
grandson  from  the  gallows.  "  Come  to 
court,"  he  pleaded  ;  "  if  you  will  only  come 
to  court ! " 

"  I  will  come,"  the  girl  at  last  made  an- 
swer, "  I  will  come  to  see  him  sentenced." 


240  Tristrem  Varich. 

Such  is  the  trnth  about  Tristrem  Varick. 
In  metropolitan  drawing-rooms  it  was  no- 
ticed that  since  Miss  Raritan's  return  from 
Europe  the  quality  of  her  voice  had  dete- 
riorated. Mrs.  Manhattan  said  that  for 
her  part  she  did  not  approve  of  the  French 
method. 


THE   END. 


STOKED  AT  NHL 


THE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  SANTA  CRUZ 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  DATE  stamped  below. 


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